


The Symbol of a Song

by hopefulwriter27



Category: American Idol RPF, Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-15
Updated: 2010-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 62,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefulwriter27/pseuds/hopefulwriter27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam convinces Dean to try out for American Idol. Together they go on a journey to accomplish dreams, rediscover hopes, and show the world the strength of their relationship. AU SPN.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alcohol Is the Cause of All My Problems

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you goes out to my two beta's [info]twivamp92 and [info]candygramme . They are unbelievably amazing and have helped me more than they can know. Thanks for sticking with me gals. It's been a long road.
> 
> Disclaimer: Supernatural and American Idol characters do not belong to me. Neither do all the songs I reference.

 

_“It’s that time again boys and girls!” Ryan Seacrest exclaimed over the radio. “Are you a talented singer waiting for your big break?” He paused. “Then American Idol is looking for you. Tryouts begin in Boston at the end of April. Come join the biggest American phenomenon as the tenth season of the best talent show on television kicks off! You can find details of tryout locations and times at AmericanIdol.com. This is Ryan Seacrest signing out.” _

_~//~_

Dean was drunk when he made the promise. Two Screwdrivers and four Blue Moons sloshed around in his stomach with a fifth on its way to join them. Sammy had slid into the booth across from him, his own eyes bright with intoxication, and two beautiful girls at his side. They all were giggling, _his brother’s such a girl, _happy little laughs, when Sam said, “Heather and Jenny here think I’m a great singer.” Jenny, at least Dean assumed that’s what the little gold J around her neck stood for, nodded and sloppily kissed his brother’s neck.

“Bragging again?” Dean snorted and swallowed the last of his beer. He searched for Mandy, the cute waitress who seemed to live at the bar. When he caught her eye he lifted his empty bottle and gave it a little shake. She nodded and disappeared behind the throng at the bar. Despite Stanford being such a snooty academic school, the clubs and bars were never empty.

Sam grinned and gave Heather a small push. She slid into Dean’s booth and pressed her warm body against his side. He met his brother’s eyes, and they shared smiles. “It’s not bragging if you really have talent.”

“Yeah!” Jenny said, breaking away from Sam’s neck. “Your brother can totally sing! He’s amazing!”

Mandy arrived with a fresh beer for him. Dean blew her a kiss and said, “Thanks, you’re a doll.” She rolled her eyes and walked away. He had slept with her once, the first time he had visited this rowdy little bar two years ago. It had been good, but not great. Sammy had been a fresh-faced eighteen year old, excitedly starting his first year of college, and Dean had been his loser brother, tagging along, unable to tear himself away from his only family. They were both two years older, but nothing much had changed. Sam still went to class, got straight A’s, and talked everyone into loving him. Dean had found a job working on cars, which admittedly he enjoyed, and spent his free time strumming on his guitar and drinking. This hole-in-the-wall tavern, and its familiar employees, had become a staple in lives of the Winchester boys.

“Hey!” Dean tried to snatch it back, but Sam held it out of reach.

“But you want to know something crazy?” Sam directed the question to the girls.

“What?” Jenny asked. She seemed to be having trouble focusing on his brother’s face. Heather had fallen asleep, her head resting against the back of the booth with her eyes shut, and her chest rising in steady beats.

Sam leaned forward, like he was about to release confidential information. “My brother can sing even better than I can.”

Jenny’s eyes flashed towards Dean. He couldn’t help but flush. “Really? Wow, can I hear you sing?”

Dean glared. He was going to murder Sam. The youngest Winchester just smirked. “Yeah, sing for us,” Heather chimed in. Apparently she wasn’t as out as Dean thought. She ran her long pink nails down his arm and over his chest.

Practically growling, Dean said, “Fine.” He looked around the room. Everyone was too engrossed in their own conversations, their own worlds, to notice him. So with one final murderous look at his brother, he closed his eyes and sang. He stumbled over the first few words of Styx’s _Renegade_. Then his baritone smoothed, and he sang the chorus of the song. Heather’s warm breath wet his neck, and the blaring music of the bar seemed harmonize with his voice.

“Woah,” Jenny sighed, looking at Dean longingly when he finished.

“That was so beautiful!” Heather squealed into his ear. Dean winced and looked over the table at his brother. Sam wore a stupid grin. Dean rolled his eyes.

“You should SO try out for American Idol,” Jenny said seriously.

Dean couldn’t help but snort. “Yeah, that sounds fun.”

“No really!” she exclaimed. She turned to Sam. “You both should. You’d so make the finals. And one of you would have to win!”

Dean opened his mouth to comment on the doucheiness of American Idol and was halted by the crazy light in his brother’s eyes. “No, Sam.”

Sam scrunched up his nose and leaned into the table. “But Dean!” he cried out. “Think about it. It’s your- it’s our dream! Haven’t we always said we wanted to be famous musicians? Jesus, you’ve been playing your guitar and singing rock as long as I can remember.”

“Sam, it’s American Idol.” End of conversation as far as Dean was concerned.

“I know! It could be our path to everything we’ve ever wanted.”

"It’s American Idol,” he said again. Maybe his brother was too drunk to understand the words.

Then Sam turned on his mournful puppy dog eyes. “Dean.” He slid the beer back to his brother and continued, “Dean, you’d never have to work on another car.”

“Hey! I like working on cars,” Dean exclaimed.

Sam glared at the interruption and continued. “You can sing and make a fortune. Do what you love and provide for yourself.” Take care of the family- me, was left unsaid. Dean heard it anyway.

Hesitantly Dean admitted, “It would be nice not struggle for every penny.”

Dean took up his beer- now only half full- and chugged down the rest. Heather’s warm lips attached themselves to his neck, and Dean stretched back to allow her better access. “So you’ll tryout with me for the next season.”

“Hmmm? Sure.” Heather’s mouth had moved to the line of his jaw. It was hard to pay attention to Sam.

“Promise, Dean.” Sam’s voice cut through the fog of lust.

Dean looked across the table. Both Sam and Jenny were looking at him. “Promise.”

Sammy smiled.

 

 

&lt;!--Session data--&gt;


	2. Tryouts

_We’ve come to our seventh and final city, the beautiful Los Angeles, California. We’ve seen some great performers, and some… not so great performers. One hundred and four hopeful contestants have been sent through to Hollywood. There are two more days and thousands more waiting to be heard. Will we find our next American Idol today? I’m Ryan Seacrest. Let’s watch._

** _~//~_ **

So in May, three days after Sam’s sophomore year ended, they took the Impala south three hundred and sixty miles to Los Angeles for the American Idol tryouts. Dean complained the whole trip. Sam ignored him.

 “God damn-it, Sam. It’s a billion degrees out here,” Dean whined. Even the thousands of beautiful girls waiting in line with them did nothing to ease Dean’s discomfort. 

“Stop moaning,” Sam barked. “We’re almost inside.” Dean looked ahead. Sam was right. Only about five people stood between them and the air conditioned building. However, considering the amount of people in line behind him- waves full of people- the body heat, combined with the early summer sun made standing outside torture. 

Dean tugged at the paper taped to his black t-shirt. Number three thousand and four. The number depressed him. Three thousand and three other contestants were in line before him. Including Sam. Fucking hell.

Two more people were let inside, and the line moved forward.  “Oh my God, isn’t this so exciting?” the teenage girl behind him squealed to her mother. Dean rolled his eyes. He had been listening to her keyed up exclamations for what seemed like forever. He stepped closer to Sam.

“Hey, watch it,” his brother muttered when Dean accidentally bumped into his back.

“Sorry.” The line moved forward again. “Hey,” Dean said to capture his brother’s attention. “Tell me what we have to do again?”

Sam sighed. “Didn’t you pay attention when we signed up? When those guys in the yellow shirts spent ten minutes talking to us before we signed the forms?” Dean pushed out his bottom lip. There had been this tiny girl wearing a mini-skirt and a blood red halter. It’s not his fault she was distracting. “We’ll be told when it’s our turn to go in front of the judges.”

“One of whom is Paula Abdul?” Dean butted in.

“Yes.”

Dean grinned. He used to have a thing for her. He had his first kiss while her song played on the radio. 

Sam continued, “The judges will ask you a few questions. Probably about what you’re going to sing; maybe something a bit more personal. Then you sing for a minute or so.”

Dean nodded. “Okay.” Finally, it was their turn to step inside. Cool air blasted along his skin. Dean groaned in appreciation. Sam shook his head at his brother’s dramatics, but he looked relieved too. They were directed through the hotel to a room with hundreds of chairs arranged in lines, and they took their place at the end.

As they waited their turn with the judges, slowly moving forward seat by seat, they witnessed people at their best and worst. Some were so nervous they had paper bags clutched in their hands. Dean watched as more than few ran to the bathroom to heave. Others were overconfident. One guy, whose black skin was offset by a bright orange top hat and a matching jumpsuit, shouted to everyone in listening range that he was going to be the next American Idol. The loud noise captured Ryan Seacrest’s attention. (Dean swore on life that he only recognized Seacrest, because of a bored afternoon at the shop where his boss had E!News on the TV) The frosted-haired man wandered over to the flamboyant man in orange with his microphone and tag-along cameraman.

Fifteen minutes later the jumpsuit man stormed past Dean, cursing like a sailor. Dean lifted an eyebrow. “I guess he didn’t make the cut.” Sam’s mouth lifted. Dean knew his brother was too much of a goody-two-shoes to make a comment on another’s misfortune. However, Dean also knew that his brother loved it when douchebags got what was coming to them.

Two hours and fifty-one minutes after the Winchesters had entered the hotel it was Sam’s turn to face the judges.  Dean laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder and gave a light squeeze. Sam bent his head, letting his bangs fall over his eyes. He flashed Dean a nervous smile, as Dean told him, “Go get-em, Sammy.” 

Sam walked towards to the double door marked “Judges Room” only to be stopped by Seacrest before he could enter. Dean couldn’t hear what they talked about, but both men looked back at him, before Seacrest waved Sam through the door. Not even a second had passed before the show’s host was standing before Dean.

“So you and your brother are trying out together?” Seacrest asked, with no introduction. Dean’s first thought was, _he sure has white teeth. _Seacrest gave a subtle wave to the cameraman and leaned in to whisper, “Brotherly competition makes great television.”

Dean was taken aback. He had never thought of his brother as competition. _Ryan Seacrest is a douchebag._ The fact didn’t surprise Dean. He figured any guy with highlights in his hair, who dressed like they were going to prom, had to be somewhat of a douche.  He didn’t know quite how to respond, so he went with, “Yeah, Sam and I are trying out together. We’ll both make it.”

Ryan Seacrest clapped him on the shoulder like an old friend. It made Dean uncomfortable, and he fidgeted where he stood. “So who do you think is better- you or your brother?” He shoved the microphone under Dean’s nose.

Dean wanted to take the microphone and shove it up Seacrest’s ass. “We’re both great.” Dean’s tone implied the annoyance he felt. The blonde haired man chuckled uncomfortably and stepped back.  Just then the door creaked open, and Sam burst out, body sharp with excitement.

Dean could tell his brother was holding back a smile. As if his little brother could ever trick him. “You made it through.” It wasn’t a question.

Sam whipped a yellow piece of paper from behind his back. “I’m going to Hollywood!” He bounded over and crushed Dean with a hug. Dean couldn’t be any happier if he’d had that yellow ticket in his own hand. He grasped his brother tight.

“Never a doubt in my mind, Sammy.” When Sam pulled away, Dean couldn’t help but respond to his brother’s happiness with a shit-eating smile of his own. He ruffled Sam’s hair and attempted to give him a noogie.

The youngest Winchester squirmed from his brother’s grasp. “Okay, okay, I get it. You’re happy for me.” He pounded lightly on Dean’s chest. “Now go get a matching ticket.” Dean nodded and made for the wooden doors. As he marched ahead, he couldn’t help but notice that Seacrest was on his brother like a barnacle the moment Dean was out of reach. He’d got the microphone close to Sam’s lips, and Sam was holding up his yellow ticket and talking a mile a minute.

 Dean rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the room before him. There was a giant blue screen spread across the back of the room, starting a few feet from the door and stretching all the way over to the other wall. About twenty feet of wooden floor stretched between the screen and the long, buffet style table where the judges sat. There were four of them, the only of which Dean recognized was Paula Abdul. She was sitting third from the left, dressed in a free-flowing, flower print top. A purple headband held back her hair and long, dangling earrings sparkled near her neck. _She’s still smoking, _Dean thought. He was distracted for a moment, lost in old, teenage fantasies.

It wasn’t until he stopped on the helpfully provided ‘X’ on the floor that he noticed the other judges. On the far left was a big black man. He sported a dark maroon shirt with a black jean jacket over top. While Dean admired the style, he couldn’t imagine a jacket in this heat. Dean tried to recall his name, but came up with nothing. Next to him was another woman. She was a looker too. Her long dark hair cascaded over her shoulders in long waves. She had on a light blue dress that hinted nicely at her cleavage. Lastly, after Paula Abdul, was a stocky man dressed fully in black. He had a pinched looked about him, like someone had just told him he couldn’t eat a cheeseburger. _He must be the mean judge, _Dean thought. Sam had told Dean about him. _Cowell, _Dean’s mind helpful provided, _his name is Simon Cowell. _   

The pretty brunette looked down at her clipboard then said, “So Dean, tell us a bit about yourself.”

They all looked at him expectantly, with somewhat bored expressions. Dean focused in on the two ladies. He rubbed his hands together and gave one of his infamous grins- the grin that had got him into countless of pants and out of many jail cells. “Well, I’m the older brother of the Sasquatch that just sang, and I’m an Aquarius who likes soft kisses and long walks on the beach.”

Simon Cowell snorted and the two women shared a look. The unfamiliar man asked, “All right, Dean, what are you going to sing for us today?”

“I’m going to sing _Carry on My Wayward Son _by Kansas.”

Paula Abdul smiled and said, “That’s a great song. Do it proud.”

_As if I would butcher anything by Kansas, _Dean thought to himself cynically. Then he sang. The first verse came out smooth as butter. Like every other time he sang _Wayward Son_, Dean let the emotion of the lyrics sweep him away. Despite what he’d heard from the other contestants concerning time and being cut off, they let him get through three verses, and the chorus, before Cowell raised his hand and motioned for Dean to stop.

When Dean heard clapping, he pushed his emotions away and looked up at the judges. Both women had grins lighting up their gorgeous faces. Even the men looked impressed. “That was beautiful,” Paula Abdul stated. “I’m a yes.” For a moment Dean thought she’d agreed to sleep with him, but then he remembered about getting a golden ticket for a trip to Hollywood. 

“Yo-dawg, this is what American Idol is all about. Guys like you who have the vocals, the looks, and the emotion behind it all. That was sweet, man; I’m a yes.”

The other woman ran a hand through her hair and said, “You have the whole package. Looks, voice, personality. You’re a go, baby.”

As Dean understood it, he’s just won a golden ticket. He looked to the last judge. Simon Cowell uncrossed his arms and tapped the tabletop. “I’m stating this now for the record. You’re the next American Idol.” He finished by holding out the yellow paper.

Dean walked up and snatched it out of the man’s hand. He smiled at all the judges and said, “Awesome guys. You rock.” Dean gave the cameraman a little wave and grinned ear-to-ear on his walk back out the double doors. _Sam and Dean, together again. _


	3. Hollywood

**   
**

_We’ve scoured the country looking for America’s singing talent. Simon, Randy, Paula and Kara have listened to thousands of hopeful contestants; they have chosen their top one hundred and twenty-two and sent them through to Hollywood with a golden ticket. Now over the next three days those contestants will compete for a spot in the top twenty four and the chance to become the next American Idol!_

_~//~_

Hollywood was crazy. Dean and Sam arrived at the Hollywood Renaissance Hotel – _mother of God was it fancy- _and entered chaos.       The lobby was packed full of American Idol contestants, American Idol employees, (still dressed in neon yellow shirts.) and haggard looking concierges. The boys were ushered to the back of a long line that wound through the lobby. Sam shifted his duffel from one shoulder to the other and said, “I hope they put us in the same room.”

Dean tore his eyes from the hot brunette wearing skintight gray dress and locked onto Sam. “What do you mean? We’re going to be together right?” A nervous panic leeched into Dean’s voice. “Sam, you told me we’d be doing this together.”

Sam frowned and moved forward with the line. “We are doing it together, Dean. We’re here together. It’s just that in the past contestants are four to a room. I’m not sure how they choose who goes in which room.  They probably decide that beforehand. They assign us rooms I mean. But it’s possible that they assign rooms as people check in. You know- the first four guys together. Then the second four, and so on. ”

Dean scowled.  Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure we’re put in the same room.”

Dean nodded and took in the crowd again. There was a wide range of contestants. Sitting in one of the fancy lobby chairs was a petite blonde wearing a pair of faded jeans, a black Jack-Daniels t-shirt, and a pair of Dockers. A black backpack sat at her feet and she was talking a mile-a-minute on a cell phone.  Adjacent from her was another blonde girl, a few years older, sitting, looking bored. She had on a tight pink tank-top and expensive looking jeans. A tattoo of a cobra wound up her arm and settled at her shoulder. The cobra’s hood took up her entire right shoulder. She ran a hand through her long hair then looked up. When she caught Dean’s eyes her nose scrunched up.

_What a bitch, _Dean thought.

 “Dean,” Sam called out. He had moved forward. Dean quickly strode ahead to catch up with his brother.

“There are some weird people here,” Dean told Sam when they were shoulder-to-shoulder again.

“Dean, we’re weird,” Sam stated back.

“We’re not weird!” Dean exclaimed. At Sam’s lifted eyebrow Dean added, “At least, I’m not. I guess I can’t account for you.”

Sam snorted and said, “Jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean replied with a sideways grin. Sam smiled back. The line moved forward.

Finally, after a lackluster thirty minutes of standing in line, the concierge handed Sam and Dean the keycards to room 412. “Man, I can’t wait to lie down. My feet are killing me!” Dean moaned to his brother.

Sam guided them to the elevator. “Yeah, and drop off my bag.” That said, the brothers made their way to their room. Once off the elevator, the signs guided them left down the hall to their room on the right.

Dean stuck in his keycard with a quick jab. The tiny light on the door handle turned green. With all the grace of a stampeding elephant, he barged into the room. “Damn! Hey Sammy, we’ve made it to the big times!” Dean said with a laugh. Sam pushed his way into the room to see.

“Hey…” Dean began, and then he noticed the man sitting on one of the two queen sized beds.  He had dark chocolate skin and was wearing a black and red plaid button-up. His black jeans were neat, but well worn. He had a few days beard growth around his mouth and his hair was just a little past shaved. “Uh, hi.” Dean said. The man swung his legs off the bed and made his way over to the brothers. Dean stuck out his hand. “I’m Dean, Dean Winchester.”

The man’s hand was calloused and strong. He had known hard work. “Gordon Walker.” He gave Dean a tense smile then turned towards Sam. “Sammy, right?” Gordon said while offering his hand. 

Sam’s mouth pulled into a flat line and he tentatively took Gordon’s hand. “It’s Sam. Only Dean can call me Sammy.” Sam dropped Gordon’s hand. Dean gave his brother a sideways look. Why was he being a dick? Yeah, Gordon didn’t seem the friendliest type, but he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

Tension hung in the air, and Dean opened his mouth to crack a joke when someone called out, “Hey! Is anybody here?” Dean swiveled around to look towards the door. It was a kid, no older than Sammy, holding a huge duffel bag. He was scruffy looking, like it had been a while since he’d seen a shower. A week’s beard growth covered his lower face and his brown hair tufted out in every direction.  Upon seeing them, he strode forward like an eager puppy. “Hi! I’m Andy!” He had his hand in Dean’s before Dean could even raise it from his side. Andy quickly moved on from him to Sam then to Gordon. Once done he let his bag drop and completed a three-sixty. “Damn, this place is crazy! Look at all that blue!” Andy said excitedly pointing to the walls and beds. He caught sight of the Hollywood sign through the window and in a flash his nose was pressed against the glass. “Jesus! Look at that! This place is _awesome_.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, and Sam chuckled and replied, “It is pretty awesome.” Gordon’s mouth pressed into a frown at Sam’s humor. _He is a little too serious, _Dean thought.

Andy turned around again and said, “Dude, there’s only two beds? Who’s sleeping with whom?”

Gordon’s eyebrows shot up, and he flashed a hopeful look towards Dean. Dean softly shook his head. _Sorry man. _“Sammy and I are used to sharing a bed. We’ll take this one,” Dean said while placing his bag on the bed closest to the door.

Andy nodded. “So you guys are boyfriends? That’s cool. I’d love to have my girlfriend here with me.”

Sam flushed bright red and stammered out, “No, no. We’re brothers. We just shared close quarters growing up.”

Andy nodded again. “Oh, sorry. That’s cool too though.” Then he looked at Gordon. “Guess that means you and me are cuddling, bro.” Andy held out his fist for a bump, but Gordon just stared at him.

“There will be no cuddling,” Gordon’s voice was deadly.

Andy laughed nervously. “Uh… yeah. I was just joking.” 

Gordon’s eyes narrowed, and he said, “We’ll worry about the sleeping arrangements later. It’s almost time for the auditions to start. We’re supposed to meet at the theater at three.”

Dean looked at his watch in surprise. Damn, it was almost three. He patted Sam on the shoulder. “Sorry, no time for a nap. We barely have time to change.” Sam nodded. “Okay, who needs to use the bathroom? Cause Sam needs to go last. He’s a princess and takes forever.”

Sam frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Gordon beat him to it. “I’m going to head down now. I’ll see you gentlemen later.” That said, Gordon wasted no time leaving.

As soon as the door clicked closed, Andy let out a loud sigh. “Anybody else find him a bit scary.”

“He’s just a serious guy,” Dean replied. Sam gave him a doubtful look. Andy shook his head and made a beeline for the bag he had dropped on the floor. Dean watched as the hippy shuffled through his contents, let out a triumphant ‘yes!’ and pulled out a zip lock bag full of weed and a bong. 

“You guys want?” Andy asked with a little shake of his bag. 

Sam said, “Uh, no thanks.”  




Andy turned a questioning look towards Dean. Dean shook his head no. “Your loss.” That said, Andy settled himself on the bed and lit up. Dean’s eyes met Sam’s. It’s going to be a long night.


	4. Hollywood Tryouts

_ It’s been two grueling days for our contestants. They’ve spent hours stretching their vocal chords to their limits, trying to show the judges that they are worthy. Some did well, others did not. Some faltered at working with others, and some worked like oiled parts of a machine. One hundred and twenty two hopefuls sang their hearts out for chance to let America vote. Now it’s up to our judges to choose the top twenty four. This is Ryan Seacrest, and you’re watching American Idol. _

_~//~_

Forty-eight hours goes by in a whirlwind of hurried song practices and douchy dance moves. Dean doesn’t want to dance at all. He’s not above a good dance now and then, especially when there’s a hot chick sliding her body against his, but dancing with three dudes in choreographed motions is a bit much.  He still shuddered when remembering the boy-band music videos Sammy forced him to watch while growing up. No, Dean liked to stick to his kiss-ass rock music and mic-gripping and guitar wailing motions. 

When was assigned his group for auditioning, he’d been livid when his and Sam’s names didn’t appear on the same list. Despite needling his brother and chatting up the yellowed shirt producer (named Casey something or other) and giving her his sexiest smile, the group assignments didn’t change.  Stalking off, he’d had met his group near the vending machine on the fourth floor and proceeded to be amazed at his group of bozos. Two of the guys looked fresh from farmstead America, with cowhide boots and big ole cowboy hats. They had opened their mouths and began belting out about their God-given voices.Dean had eyed good-man Joe and cow herder Nick and thought, _they’re overcompensating for small dicks. _

_T_he third guy wasn’t as bad as the other two, but looked like he’d jumped from an eighties sit-com. Dean had given him a curt nod and said, “Hey, I’m Dean.”

The guy stuck out a hand, which was covered by a fingerless glove, and said, “Yo, I’m Ash.” Dean couldn’t help staring at Ash’s gray sleeveless button-up, thread bare jeans, and mullet.

Ash noticed. He ran his hand through his hair and said, “You like? It’s awesome, right? All professional in the front, and a party in the back.”

“Uh, yeah.” Ash smiled and thumped Dean on the arm.

They had to pick one of three songs to sing for the judges. Billy Joel’s _It’s Still Rock and Roll to Me, _Gavin DeGraw’s _I Don’t Want to Be, _and Matchbox Twenty’s _Real World_ didn’t seem like great choices in Dean’s opinion. Ten seconds after looking at the list, he knew there was no way in hell that he’s sing something that was on Sam’s iPod. So he bullied the others into going with _It’s Still Rock and Roll to Me._ At least the title had the word ‘rock’ in it. Dean grasped heavily onto that word.

Joe and Nick already knew the lyrics to the song, no surprise, so while Dean and Ash looked over the lyrics sheet, they sang.  Despite looking like a WWE reject, Joe had a high alto. His voice was so distracting that Dean had to stop reading and control his laughter. He sounded like a pre-teen girl. Nick was the complete opposite. He had a deep bass. He had more natural talent than Joe, but he’d had no practice. His pitch was all over the place. _They’re not getting far, _Dean snorted to himself.

Ash, on the other hand, wasn’t bad. He was also a low bass, almost a baritone. He had obviously had some voice lessons over the years, and could keep his pitch steady. _He’s still not as good as Sammy or me. _Dean gave a quick hum, to find his note, and sang the first few bars of the song. _Not bad, _he thought, _in spite of the song. _ 

After each of them had gone through the song on their own, Nick suggested, “Let’s do it together.” There was no harmony. They sounded like a bad version of a high school choir. Dean didn’t have much experience singing with others, just Sammy, but he knew what was good and what sucked. He was good; they sucked.

Dean ran a hand over his face. “Look guys, it’s been a long day. Let’s get some sleep and wake up early tomorrow and get a fresh start. Auditions aren’t until nine.” Sleep on it. That’s what his dad always said when a problem persisted. Back before everything went to shit. The motto had always worked for Dean.

Joe scrunched up his nose like Dean had just let one loose. “We need to practice our dancing first.”

Dean blinked. “What do you mean?”

“We need to have some dance moves, and decide what order we’re going to sing in,” Joe added.

“This is a singing competition, not dancing,” Dean said in a low tone. Sam never said anything about dancing.

Nick piped up again. “It doesn’t have to be much, but enough to impress the judges.”

Dean crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “I’ll impress the judges with my singing. You guys can dance.”

Both Nick and Joe scowled, and Ash looked amused. “Are you going to dance?” Dean snapped in the mullet-haired man’s direction.

Ash just shrugged and replied, “I am a line-dancing champ.” He held up his pointer finger. “Number one in all of Nebraska.”

_Unbelievable, _Dean thought. Aloud he said, “Nebraska? I didn’t know people actually lived in that state.”

Ash snorted and bobbed his head. “There are not a lot of us. Though I met a girl here, her name is Jo, who lives the city over from me.”

“Crazy,” Dean replied with a roll of his eyes.

“Not to interrupt this bonding experience, but are we going to practice our choreography?” Joe barked out. “I was thinking we could do something like this.” He dipped his shoulders forward, and for a moment Dean thought he was about to get rammed, but Joe pulled back up and turned around. _That’s a dance move? _Dean questioned then smiled to himself as he thought, _Joe is definitely a virgin. No chick would hit that. _

Joe caught his smiled and said, “It’s great isn’t it?”

Dean’s chest rumbled with choked back laughter. “Tell you what,” he unfolded his arms and waved his arm from one guy to the next, “Why don’t you fellas come up with whatever dance moves and other princess things you want. I’ll just sing, and if the judges don’t like it, they’ll ax me.”

The room was empty when he got back, so he flipped on the television, found the pay-per-view station, and rented _The Fast and the Furious_. He ordered a cheeseburger and fries from room service. He was licking the last bit of salty ketchup from his fingertips and turning off the television when Sam came staggering in. The alarm clock on the nightstand read one-o-six. “Tired?” Dean asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sam shook his head then collapsed on the bed beside him. “I spent the past six hours practicing with a group of guys who wanted to call themselves _The Great Ones.” _Sam’s voice was equal parts disbelieving and outraged.

Dean snorted. “I know what you mean. The people here seem to have egos the size of Texas.” Sam groaned out an agreement and rolled over to stuff his face into the pillow. “Take off your shoes,” Dean said. Sam kicked them off; his eyes drifted close. “Do you want something to eat? The kitchen is open twenty four hours and has awesome burgers.” Sam mumbled something into the pillow. “What?”

“I’m too tired. I’ll eat when I get up.” He buried his head back into his pillow as soon as he finished his reply.  Dean shrugged and got up to set his plate and tray outside the door. When he got back Sam was already snoring in soft, little wheezes. Dean went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth and came back into to the bedroom.  He flipped off the overhead light and the small light on the nightstand. Gordon and Andy would have to stumble through the dark to find their bed. It was their fault they hadn’t come back yet. With that thought in mind, Dean tugged the covers out from under Sam- the kid didn’t wake- and crawled on the other side of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight and the pillow conformed to his head. In minutes the day’s activities caught up with him, and he joined his brother in dreamland.

_~//~_

After Dean and Sam had eaten a little of everything at the breakfast buffet, they spilt and met up with their groups. Joe and Nick were sporting their cowboy hats and Ash was wearing the same clothes he wore when Dean saw him last. “You just fall asleep and roll out of bed?” Dean asked the mullet-haired man.

Ash bobbed his head. “Hey, I’ll take every ounce of sleep I can get.”

Dean snorted. _It doesn’t look like he got any sleep. _All of the guys had deep circles under their eyes and droopy shoulders. “Stay up late dancing?” he asked with a sideways grin.

Joe bristled. “Yeah, while you were off sleeping. And there’s no time for you to learn them. I guess you’ll just have to do your own thing.” It was clear he thought Dean’s lack of participation a sin and was happily preparing Dean’s departure.  Dean shrugged. He didn’t care what these cowboys thought.

 “It doesn’t matter anyways. It’s almost time to go into the theater. Let’s head on down and practice the song one more time,” Ash suggested. He gave Dean a tired smile. He obviously didn’t care whether Dean danced or not. Nick took his hat in his hand and strode towards the elevator. Joe shot Dean a death glare and hurried after Nick.  

“They sure don’t like you,” Ash said to Dean.

Dean placed a hand over his chest and replied, “I’m heartbroken.”  Ash chuckled, slapped him on the back, and made his way to the elevator. Dean smiled and followed. 

There were dozens of group already waiting outside the theater when they arrived. The room was filled with singing voices. He could catch a few words here and there, but mostly Dean heard a jumble of sounds in a multitude of pitches. _I’m going to get a headache if I’m out here too long. _Dean scratched the back of his head and searched for Sammy. He brother’s tall frame was easily spotted across the room, close to the theater doors. Dean could see Sam’s lips moving, practicing his song. Sam had told him over breakfast that his group had chosen to sing _Real World. _Dean hadn’t been surprised. Sammy liked all that angtsy, heart-bleeding music.

Ash tapped him on the shoulder and informed him that they were ready to practice. Dean rolled his eyes but complied with his group’s wishes. Hell, sometimes it was easier to just go with the flow. The sang the song once over- they did sound better than last night- then the other guys wanted to practice with their dance moves.

“Fine,” Dean retorted, “just tell me where to stand while you fellas do your thing. I’ll stay out of the way.”

Joe made a snide remark that sounded an awful lot like, “how about off the stage?” Dean just inwardly rolled his eyes. _Hey, the guy has to be a douchebag. He’s got nothing else going for him. _Nick directed him to stand to the left of Ash, behind Joe and in front of himself. As they sang the song again, the man in front did his ‘special dance moves’ and sang the loudest. Then they rotated; Dean was the last to the front.

As they finished one round of practicing-  _thank God there wasn’t time for more- _the constants were directed inside. The seats inside the theater were split in half by a long, carpeted aisle.. Girls were directed to sit on the left side, the guys on the right. Sam and his group were four rows ahead of Dean’s. A yellow-shirted producer clapped his wide hands and shouted, “Listen up everybody.” The room became silent. “The girls are going to sing first.” There were some groans from the guy side. Dean was happy. He’d rather spend hours looking at chicks in the morning than dudes. “The judges will be here in a minute or two. You have to stay quiet while the groups on stage are singing, so they can hear properly. You’ll be called up by numbers.” He started to turn away then paused, “Oh, and good luck.” 

There were a few minutes of nervous chatter by the contestants, but then the judges came in. Paula Abdul looked smoking. Dean stared at the cleavage her low-cut tan tank and not-buttoned button-up shirt provided. _Maybe all this waiting won’t be so bad, _he thought. Then she took her seat at the judge’s table and all he could see was her back. _Damn._

The tryouts seemed to last forever. The girls didn’t finish their songs until noon. Dean’s legs were aching from sitting in the same position for so long, (despite the practice he’d had as a kid sitting in the car.) Eventually, he started throwing little pieces of paper- from the lyrics sheet- down at Sam. It was five points if he hit him on the head, two on the shoulders, one point for the chair. However, after he kept hitting the guys behind Sam, and they started giving him death looks, Dean decided that he’d better find something else to do.

Finally, the girls were done. Then they broke for lunch. It had to have been the fastest lunch- turkey sandwiches and cheese-its- Dean ever had. He did to say a quick word to Sammy though. From the way he was sweating, Dean gathered his brother was a nervous mess. This of course, made him laugh. Then lunch was over, and it was the guys turn.

Dean didn’t know if there were less guys or what, but the groups seemed to be finished faster than the girls. Soon it was Sammy’s turn, and Dean watched him rock out _Real World. _As the words ‘_I wonder what it's like to be a super hero. I wonder where I'd go if I could fly around downtown’_ floated from Sammy’s mouth, Dean couldn’t help but think, _Damn, my little brother is fucking amazing. _When Sam finished, Dean couldn’t help but stand, cheer, and clap as loud as possible. Some of it might have been the embarrassment factor.

Then it was his turn. Joe and Nick stumbled up the stage steps, sweating bullets and wearing identical expression of fear. Ash was paler than normal, but otherwise he looked fine. Dean wasn’t really nervous. He’s didn’t like the idea of singing in front of all these strangers, but he knew that Sammy was out there, depending on him to put on a performance as great as his own. _We need to make it together._

So Dean sang. He sang backup for the bozos of his group, and he gave it his all when he was front and center. Paula and Kara (Sam had told him her name.) seemed entranced by him. Dean expected no less. When they were finished, Dean knew he had aced it. He was floating as he came off the stage. He gave the judges a wink and a pout, and his group members a smug grin.

Sammy caught his eye on the trek back to his seat. The youngest Winchester was all smiles and happiness. Dean leaned over the two guys in the first two seats, and gave his brother a one armed- completely manly- hug. “You rocked,” Sam said with a grin.

“Of course I did,” Dean replied. “You weren’t too bad yourself.” Sam rolled his eyes and smiled. Ash ushered Dean back to his seat. They weren’t supposed to talk when other groups were performing. About forty more guys still had to go. Dean sighed and settled in for another long wait.

Three p.m. rolled around, and finally, _finally, _everyone had finished singing. The judges look exhausted, and Dean didn’t feel much better. _It’s amazing how doing nothing and being bored can make you tired, _Dean thought. Simon Cowell took the stage and everyone became quiet.

 “Thank you for coming to Hollywood,” Simon began, “My fellow judges and I are going to deliberate about your performance. Go eat dinner. By tonight, twenty four of you are going to the next contestants for American to vote on.” A cheer went up. Dean stayed silent. “Everyone is to meet in the lobby of the hotel by seven p.m.”

That said, Simon left the stage and followed the rest of the judges out of the theater. As soon as they were gone, the room exploded with talking. Dean hurried out  of his seat and made his way over to Sammy. His brother was already in the isle when Dean got there. Dean took one look at his brother and said, “Food?”





	5. The Top 24

_After tears, cheers and nervous contestants, our judges have chosen their top twenty-four. Now it’s up to those lucky individuals to prove their worth to America. Who will make it to the top twelve? The top ten? Who will be our next American Idol?  _

~//~

 

Dean was sitting on expensive carpet, leaning against wallpaper that must have cost more than he made in a year, watching the other twenty-three individuals (including his brother) freak out. Even Ash, who Dean thought was even more laid back than he, was nervously twitching his fingers and talking a mile a minute to Andy in the corner across the room. _God knows what they’re talking about. _When the twenty four of them had been guided into this hotel meeting room, Dean sunk into the plush carpet happily, grateful to stretch his legs and lean back. Sam had taken a seat next to him, but only minutes had passed before his brother was up and pacing around.

Dean followed the path of Sammy’s long legs and even longer torso, to find worry wrinkles between his eyes. “Dude, you have nothing to be worried about,” Dean said.

Sam shook his head and his bangs fell over his eyes. “You don’t know that. There are five other groups out there, with equal chance at being chosen. Five, Dean.” He ran a hand through his hair. Dean sighed and stood.

“Sammy,” he reasoned, “Besides the awesomeness that is the Winchesters, look who else is in this room.” Sammy looked around. Dean followed his gaze. Gordon was standing near the double doors, arms crossed and scowling. Sam might think he was a douche, but Sam couldn’t deny that Gordon could belt it out. Jo, who’d turned out to be the cute girl on the phone from the lobby, was in a conversation with a hoity-toity, yet completely smoking brunette. It seemed like for every word that came out of Jo’s mouth, there was a corresponding hand motion to accompany it. There was also the bitchy girl from the lobby- the one with the snake tattoo. She was leaning against the far wall, her eyes glued to Sam. Dean didn’t mind when girls wanted to hook-up with Sam, but he didn’t like the crazed, hungry look in her eyes. He made a mental note to watch out for her.

“I don’t know Dean. I can’t help but worry.”

Dean snorted. That was damn true. “Seriously, don’t. Besides, those bitches from my group- Nick and Joe- are absent. There’s no way those idiots are making it.” 

Sam shrugged then opened his mouth to respond. He was interrupted by creaking of the doors. Every head in the room whipped around and locked onto the four judges as they walked in. Randy was sporting a pair of dark shades, Simon wore a scowl, Kara’s mouth was drawn into a thin line. Paula’s eyes were locked onto some random point on the back wall. A tumble of unease circled in Dean’s belly. _Maybe I was wrong. _He pushed his arm into Sam’s, clinging to comfort of touch.

It was Kara who spoke first.  Her voice was grim. “We’d like to start off by saying thank you for coming out to Hollywood to participate in American Idol’s tenth season.” Sam’s face turned pale; Dean’s stomach clenched. “We’ve watched all of you perform, and have chosen which of you will go on to perform for the American public.” She paused and looked at the floor. Sammy’s hand curled tight around his shoulder. Then Kara looked up and grinned. “We’d liked to congratulate you all for being those twenty-four.” 

It took approximately two seconds for the news to sink in, and then everyone in the room was shouting in happiness. Girls were jumping into guys’ arms; guys were pumping their fists high into the air. Dean bowed his head, bumped into Sam hard enough to move his brother, then smiled. “See,” he told Sam, “What did I tell you?”

Sam laughed and tried to ruffle his hair. “I know. I should listen to you.”

“Well, I am the older one,” Dean said, happiness coloring his voice. It felt good to be picked.

The contestants weren’t the only ones celebrating. The judges were sharing cheerful words with anyone that approached them. A waving hand caught Dean’s attention. Andy was calling them over. Sam wove his way through the crowd over to the hippie. Dean started to move, but was stopped by a voice coming from his side.

“I knew I was going to make it. What about you?” Dean turned to face the speaker. It was a girl, maybe twenty-two, twenty-three years old. She had short, dyed blonde hair and a smug grin.      




“I was pretty confident.” He replied. She was attractive, if a bit skinny for his tastes. He liked a woman with curves.

She held out her hand and he slipped his into hers. “I’m Meg Masters.” Her hand was dry and rough. Dean didn’t like the way it felt. He quickly slid his palm from hers.

“Dean. Dean Winchester.”

She nodded, like he had gotten an answer right on a test. “You’re here with your brother right?” Her eyes flicked to Sam.

“How’d you know that?” Dean saw Sam throw his head back at something Andy said. Ash smacked Andy on the back. Dean suddenly felt uncomfortable.

“Oh, I have my ways.” She smiled that smug grin.

“Look, it was nice to meet you, but I’m going to celebrate with my brother.”

“Sure thing. I’m going to go say hi to the judges anyway.” She walked away, and Dean pushed his way past the excited crowd and tapped his brother on the back.

“Hey Dean! Andy was just telling us about the time he won a singing competition using Britney Spear’s _Toxic_.”

Dean blinked then burst out laughing. “You my man, are nuts.”

Andy just grinned then began another story about his girlfriend, the restaurant she waited at, and _Hit Me Baby One More Time. _

~//~

 

Dean wiped his palms down the side of his jeans. It was almost his turn to go on. After the initial excitement of being chosen by the judges had worn off, Dean realized he still had six more guys to beat out for a spot in the top twelve. He, Sammy, and the rest of the contestants were ushered into different hotel rooms- this time two to a room- and were informed how the rest of the show would pan out.

There were twelve guys and twelve girls, and all of them would sing each week. The guys would sing on Monday nights and the girls Tuesdays until there were six of each left. The American public would vote each night, and then on Wednesdays the results would be announced by Ryan Seacrest. One girl and one guy, the contestants with the lowest votes, would be sent packing. The final twelve would then be moved into a mansion in Los Angeles and would sing each week in front of a live studio audience. The top ten would go on tour, and the last one remaining would be the American Idol.

Dean thought this was way too much work. _If Sammy and I are the last two remaining, that means that we’ll be here for another twelve weeks! _Twelve weeks was a long time. Three months. Before Stanford, Dean and Sam hadn’t lived anywhere for three months. It would be three months without bringing in the bacon. Three months without drinking in his favorite pub or annoying Mandy the waitress.

Gordon finished his song and moved forward to be critiqued by the judges. Dean was on next. A PA came over and fiddled with the mic-pack hooked to his belt. Tina, the make-up artist, reached up her hand to fluff his hair, and he whined, “Hey, I already suffered at your hands. Enough already, woman!”

She snorted and did what she wanted anyways. “Suck it up, big boy.”

In a blink he was being directed on stage. He could hear Ryan Seacrest saying his name. With the plugs in his ears, Seacrest’s voice had a strange echo. Then the spot lights were shinning overhead, and the judges and television cameras were intimately focused on him. Dean couldn’t help thinking back to Meg’s pat on the shoulder and her comment, _“just think, there are millions of people watching you behind those cameras.” _Dean really didn’t like her.

Then the strum of electric guitar and the rhythm of drums flashed to life. His anxieties faded the louder each beat blasted. Then there was nothing but Ozzie Osbourne’s _Crazy Train_. He gripped the microphone close to his mouth, closed his eyes and sang. “Crazy…. But that’s how it goes. Millions of people living as foes.” He began rocking his foot, moving the mic in matching rhythm. “Maybe it’s not too late to learn how to love and forget how to hate…”

He let the feeling, that electric excitement, carry him to the end of the song. “Mental wounds not healing, who and what’s to blame, I’m going off the rails on a crazy train.” He finished with a classic head bang, then stillness. His breath came in harsh pants, and his pulse pushed hard against is the skin of his throat. He couldn’t have wiped off his grin for a million dollars.

Seacrest came forward, placed his palm flat against Dean’s back and guided him towards the edge of the stage. _They expect me to stand here?_ Adrenaline cycled through his system like a drug, making him want to jump, fuck, fight, anything but stand there and listen to the judges opinions.  The host said something, but Dean couldn’t focus on the words coming out of his mouth.

Then, suddenly, the Randy was talking.  “Dawg, that was rockin’!” His elbows were on the table, and, with each word he spoke, his hands sprung forward. “You are a natural talent, and you obviously love your rock.” He shook his head and grinned, like Dean had uttered a dirty, but funny joke.

Kara went next. “I agree with Randy, Dean. You definitely have an amazing talent. However, keep your eyes open! You connect with your audience using your eyes, and when they’re closed, you lose something.”

Dean nodded but thought, _You try keeping your eyes open when sweat is pouring into them. _ 

“Dean,” Paula said with a huge grin on her face. “You are it. You were fantastic up there. I really felt the music, and your passion for it.” She gave him two thumbs up. “Keep up that passion, and you’ll go far.” Dean flashed her a smile. He didn’t care about those rumors. She was hot and sweet, even if she was a druggie.

Simon went last. His arms were crossed over his black t-shirt- _does he own anything else?- _but his expression wasn’t hateful. “I agree with Kara that you need to keep your eyes open. Rock is obviously your thing; you do it well. I look forward to seeing what you do outside of your comfort zone.” His words weren’t encouraging, but they weren’t put-downs either. Dean nodded.

Ryan Seacrest curled his hand around Dean’s shoulder and said, “Alright folks. If you liked Dean’s performance, and want to vote for him, dial 1-866-IDOLS-08 or text VOTE to 5708.”

Then he was being ushered off stage. He walked back to the lounge, where the other male contestants were waiting. Jorge, a seventeen year old from New Mexico, was walking out as Dean came in, guided by a yellow-shirted PA. He was up next. The guys that had performed were noticeably less tense than the one who had note.

Sammy came up to him as soon as Dean’s PA left. “You did great!” Sam said and slapped a coke can into his hand.

Dean popped it open and chugged. When his thirst abated, he stopped, belched, and said, “Course I did, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Sometimes you’re such a dick.”

“Hey! Watch who you’re calling a dick, bitch!” Sam snorted and shook his head. His eyes drifted to the big screen where Jorge was committing manslaughter on Jason Mraz’s _The Remedy. _Dean’s arm shot out and hooked around his brother’s neck. “Hey, you’re going to rock them out too.”

The anxiety in Sam’s eyes didn’t lighten. So Dean added, “Well, I don’t think you can actually rock out to that whiney band Maroon 5, but hell, you can damn try.”

Sam pushed him off. “Maroon 5 isn’t whiney, Dean. They’re a great lyrical band with countless hits.”

“They sing mopey love songs. They’re whiney.”

“Like the music you listen to is anything but screaming.”

“Hey!” Dean snapped, pretending to be hurt, “my music is classic.”

“Sam Winchester, you’re up,” a PA shouted.

Sam ducked his head. “Thanks Dean.”

Dean didn’t say anything, but he watched his brother walk away with a bubble of happiness in his chest. When Sam left the room, Dean’s eyes flicked to the big screen. He watched as Seacrest introduced Sammy and his song. Sammy seemed even taller on the large television. The mic only came up to his chin, so Sam took it off the stand to sing. The melody of _She Will Be Loved _floated from his lips. His body swayed with the lyrics. Sam wasn’t quite dancing, just a gentle motion to accompany the smooth song.

Just as his brother was finishing, Gordon came to stand next to Dean. “He’s not as good as you,” Gordon’s deep voice stated.

Dean frowned. “He’s plenty good. Better than me.” He turned to look at the other singer.

“Dean,” Gordon said, “you shouldn’t let him hold you back.”

“What?” Dean snapped, anger clouding his tone. “He’s not holding me back. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Gordon’s arm came up and his big hand rested at the nape of Dean’s neck. “I’ve seen how you are with him. You’re a good brother Dean.” He leaned in a bit closer. “But, you are a better singer than he is. If you let him ride your coattails then he’ll drag you down.”

Dean stepped away from Gordon’s touch. “Gordon,” Dean’s voice was tight, “I like you man, but if you drag on my brother again I’ll punch you in the face.”

Gordon’s eyes narrowed and went dark. “Alright. I won’t say anything else.”

Sam burst into the room. His grin could outshine the sun. “Kara said I had a beautiful voice! And Simon said he could see me singing anything!” he yelled out to Dean.

Dean left Gordon and walked over to his brother. He draped his arm back over Sam’s Sasquatch shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get some of that pizza, before Ash eats it all.” Sammy nodded happily and continued to chat about his performance. Dean could feel Gordon’s eyes boring a hole into his back.

~//~

Wednesday night came after a celebration at the hotel bar with some of his fellow contestants, too little sleep, and Sammy’s hung-over bitching all day.

“I’m just not sure. I mean, Jake and Gordon really sung it out yesterday. And you, well…”

 “Enough already!” Dean spat.  Sam was driving him crazy. “Get your panties untwisted. God you’re like a girl on her prom night.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open, like he couldn’t’ believe Dean had just said that. Dean huffed and walked to the buffet table set up backstage. PA’s were running around like headless chickens, making last minute adjustments to the set, making sure all the contestants looked camera worthy, and getting Ryan Seacrest his Evian. One yellow shirted PA ran past him, shouting “Three minutes, until we need everyone on stage!”

Dean ignored his shout and stuffed a mini hotdog into his mouth. If there was one benefit to this craziness it was all the free food. For lunch, they had provided these little Philly cheese steak sandwiches.  Dean had eaten so many he had to unbutton his pants. He chewed and looked over his should at his brother. Sam had wandered over to a gaggle of girls, and was letting them fawn over him. Meg was at his side. _Sammy would like her know-it-all attitude, _Dean thought with disgust. Sometimes he didn’t understand his brother’s taste in women. There was another girl, he thought her name was Sarah, standing on Sam’s other side. Dean vaguely remember talking to her last night, and then drifting away to shoot the shit with Gordon and Jo. He remembered that her parents were art dealers, or something fancy like that. He hoped Sammy would take to her rather than the stick-blonde.

“Alright people!” A frantic PA shouted franticly into his megaphone. “All contestants are needed on stage. Everyone else to your stations!” Two other PA’s herded the contestants to the black leather couches set on the left-hand side of the stage. Dean slid in-between Sam and Andy. 

The judges walked to their seats on the elevated platform past the stage. All of them looked relaxed and were all smiles. Then Seacrest came on stage, dressed in a form fitting, pinstriped suit, and, like magic, the judges snapped to attention. American Idol’s famed intro music played loudly throughout the room. Seacrest faced the nearest camera, and began. “Welcome to the first results show of American Idol’s tenth season. Our top twenty four have competed, the guys on Monday night and the girls on Tuesday. You have voted, and the results are in. Tonight, one male and one female will be going home. But first, let’s look at the road so far.”

The giant screen at the back of the stage blinked to life. In a montage of mini-clips, the producers showed all twenty four contestants showing up at their respective tryouts, and the happenings of Hollywood. When the clips were over, Seacrest walked back over to the couches and stood with the results cards in hand wearing a wide smile.

“Okay, in no specific order, here are your results, America.” Seacrest looked past Dean toward Sarah, sitting the on the top couch to the far left. “Sarah Blake, tonight you are safe.” Dean heard her sigh of relief.

The night went on like that. One by one Ryan Seacrest read their results. Twenty minutes into the show, there were four individual standing on stage- the young Jorge, a tattooed Asian girl named Cindy, Frankie, the oldest of the contestants, and a chubby redhead named DeShanna. All of them looked ready to puke. Dean couldn’t blame them. He wished Seacrest would just get it over with. It was always better to rip the band aid off.

Seacrest clutched the card to his chest like it was a love note from Madonna. “Cindy, DeShanna, one of you is going home.” The girls grasped hands. “Cindy, I’m sorry you had the least amount of votes.” Cindy burst into tears. DeShanna tried not to look too happy and consoled Cindy with a one-armed hug.  The American Idol host turned to the boy. “Jorge, Frankie, one of you is going home.” Frankie stared at the ceiling. Jorge clenched his fists. “Frankie, you are not going home tonight.” Frankie pumped his fist in the air and shouted ‘_yes!’_ Jorge’s shoulders dropped and he looked like he was about to take a tumble across the stage.

The results show ended with a blast of music and a close up of the judges. Everyone piled off stage. Hugs and words of comfort were doled out to Jorge and Cindy. Dean held back. It was a competition, and as long as Sammy and he were safe, everything was fine. Sam on the other hand, had one of his colossal hands around Cindy’s shoulders and was talking to her with an expression of deep sympathy. _You’re such a bleeding heart, Sammy, _Dean thought.

A back bumped into his hard enough to knock his thoughts from his mind. Dean turned with a frown. “Hey Andy, watch were you’re going man.”

Andy swayed and looked at Dean with bright eyes. “Sorry man, sorry. Didn’t mean to bump ya.” He gave a happy wave to Sarah, who just looked at Andy like he was crazy.”

Dean sniffed. “Andy man, when did you have time to get baked?” They had only been off stage a few minutes.

Andy giggled and tugged on the hem of his long sleeve. “Dean my man, there is always time to sneak in a toke.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Drugs had never been his vice. Girls and beer on the other hand…

“Can you believe we still have five more shows to do before the top twelve? Then another eleven people to go through to be the next Idol?” He whistled. “Damn.”

_Thanks for reminding me, _Dean thought.

“I just hope it goes fast. I’m already sick of living in a hotel.” Andy said and swayed into Dean’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Dean replied while thinking of Sam’s nervous bitchiness and the uncomfortable results show, “me too.”  





	6. The Top 12

_Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, we are down to our final twelve. Earlier this week our remaining twelve contestants were moved into the Idol mansion. Tonight will be their first performance in front of a live studio audience. Watch, enjoy and vote!_

~//~

 

It went fast. Before Dean had a moment to himself, before he could visit his baby, his Impala, in storage, six weeks had passed, and he and Sammy were part of the final twelve. They were taken to the mansion in a long, black stretch limo. Dean wasn’t the first out of the limo, but he was the first to say, “Goddamn, this place is _big_!”

The mansion was white. Tall pillars framed a castle-sized, wooden front door. The house cascaded outwards- at least the length of a semi truck on either side of the front porch. Dean couldn’t see how far back the mansion stretched, but he guessed pretty damn far. Sam slung his bag over his shoulder and came to stand next to his brother. Dean grabbed his shoulder. “Sammy, we’re living the high life!” Sam didn’t say anything; he just stared at the house.

"Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m going inside,” a cultured voice said to Dean’s left. _Bela, _his mind provided him. When he had met the girl his immediate thought had been, well, _sex now! _Then he had gotten to know her. Bela, he found, was the type of pretentious bitch he tried to stay away from. Hot as the sun on the outside, and an entitled snob on the inside.  Knowing that, didn’t stop him from checking out her ass as she led the group indoors.

French doors in the living room led to an Olympic sized swimming pool and Jacuzzi outside. “Oh my god!” squealed Ava when she saw the pool. She turned to Sam and Dean and blurted out, “We have a pool! I can’t wait until my fiancé comes over and sees this!” Dean smiled. This was one girl he liked. She was just so endearing.

“What do you say Gordon, a little competitive swimming contest?” Dean asked with a raised eyebrow.

Gordon gave a curt nod no. “Swimming is not my thing. I’ll gladly beat you at bowling though.”

Next to him, Sam snorted. Dean just smiled. “I’ll have you know that Sammy and I are expert bowlers.” This time Sammy gave him a raised eyebrow. Dean just shrugged. So what if he exaggerated a little. How hard could bowling really be?

Gordon gave him a shark like grin.

Jo butted her way into the conversation. “So I guess this means a bowling tournament?” Today, she had worn her long blonde hair loose and was looking mighty cute. Dean liked her best out of all the girls. She was the most personable, and she loved classic cars, guns and drinking. Dean couldn’t wait to show her his baby.

“I’m not bowling,” Bela declared. “I’m putting my clothes away before they wrinkle, slipping into my bikini, and sunbathing in this glorious weather.” That said, she left the rest of them standing and wandered inside.

“Oh, I should put my clothes away too,” Ava worried, “But bowling sounds great.”

“How about we all take thirty, put our things away then meet at the bowling alley,” Sam suggested, ever the wise one.

"Sounds like a plan!” Andy smiled and wandered off, muttering something about a broken bowl.

Ash looked torn. A decision flashed through his eyes, and he patted Dean consolingly on the shoulder. “Sorry dude, I’m going to sunbath with the hot chick.” He wandered over to a lounge chair, toed off his shoes and yanked off his shirt. Dean didn’t think any man could be so pale, or have so much blonde chest hair.

Dean shared an amused look with his brother then strolled back inside. As Gordon and Jake walked upstairs to their room, Dean was glad they had decided rooming situations before everyone moved in. Since Gordon couldn’t room with Dean- though he had tried to convince Dean otherwise- he had moved on to dominating Jake. Ash and Andy, after several rounds of Miller Light, had declared each other long lost friends (don’t ask! Dean didn’t understand it either.) and vowed to be roommates whatever the cost. That left Sam with Dean, the way Dean liked it.

He knew that Jo was rooming with Sarah- very wise choice on her part- while Ava was rooming with Meg. He felt sorry for the girl; Meg was a class A creep-o, and Ava seemed so sweet, if slightly naïve. Bela, on the other hand, was rooming with the other scary-ass chick, the one with the snake tattoo. _Ruby, _Sam’s voice said in his mind. This Ruby hadn’t said much to Dean over the course of the past six weeks, though he had caught her staring at both him and Sam a few times. She had an intelligent edge to her, a ruthlessness that Dean didn’t like. It didn’t help that she could rock out the house. This was a competition after all.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice cut across Dean’s thoughts. “Want to go check out the fridge before we unpack?”

His brother sure knew the way to his heart. “Dude, of course!” Dean said with widespread arms. The fridge was the most important part of this new abode. It better be stocked full of goodies.               




~//~

 

After a good two days to settle in, it was Tuesday again. Time to compete. Their new theater was twice the size of the old one. It also had a few hundred audience members. “Sammy,” Dean called out to his brother from near the edge of the stage. “Look at all those people.” He bounced on the tips of his toes. Besides the judges, cameramen, and band members stationed on stage, Dean only recognized two people out of the entire crowd. In the right-hand seating section, sitting in the first seat, was Ava’s fiancé. He had come backstage earlier in the day and eaten lunch with everyone. Dean couldn’t help noticing Ava’s permanent smile or the way her eyes were locked onto the guy. _Lucky son of a bitch, _Dean thought. Sometimes he couldn’t help fantasizing what his life would be like with a loving wife and a couple of kids. He knew it would never happen. A wife and kids was something Sammy might get, but not him.

Sam pressed his shoulder into Dean’s. “Nervous?”

Dean shot his brother an annoyed look. “No, of course not,” he snapped. What was to be nervous about? It was just a couple of hundred strangers waiting to hear him sing. Here to judge him and compare him to the others. Nothing to be nervous about at all.

Dean ripped his eyes away from the crowd to look at his brother. Sammy’s lips were pressed down in a soft frown, and his eyebrows dipped forward. His brother _looked_ nervous. Dean looped his arm around Sam’s shoulders. “Don’t worry little bro. Your emo-angst music will knock their socks off.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to go first.” Sam shrugged him off and walked back towards the contest lounge. Dean followed.

“Dude, I want to go first. I have to go last and wait while everyone else goes on.” Sam nodded, conceding to Dean’s point.

“Attention everyone,” Mikey, one of the PA’s, called out, “All contestants to the lounge. It’s showtime!”

Ash and Andy were the last ones in. They both look cool as cucumbers. _I’m surprised they haven’t been caught yet, with all the smoking those guys do, _Dean thought with amusement.  Everyone settled on the red couches and watched as the big screen came to life. American Idol’s theme music echoed throughout the room, coming from both the television and the stage. Ryan Seacrest stood dead center, dressed in a classic black suit, wearing his perpetual,_ ‘aren’t I cool,’_ grin. Dean really didn’t understand the man’s appeal.

“Good evening, America, and welcome to American Idol.” Seacrest’s voice rang out strong and loud. “We are down to our final twelve contestants.” The crowd screamed. Dean was taken aback. _Tonight’s sure going to be different. _“Tonight they will sing a hit from the 2000’s. You will vote and decide who moves on and who stays.” Another wave of screams came from the crowd. “First up tonight is Sam Winchester singing _Smooth _by Santana. Let’s see his journey with this song and our guest judge, Justin Timberlake.”

As Sammy went out on stage, the television flipped to life and showedhim practicing with Justin. “It’s such an honor to meet a star like Mr. Timberlake,” on-screen Sammy gushed. “He’s an icon and an amazing talent.”_ My brother is such a little fan girl, _Dean moaned to himself. The screen changed from Sammy’s confessional to show him practicing with the pop-star.

“Sam is a great singer. He’s got amazing control over his voice and has a singing style that’s very popular these days. He’ll do well in the industry.” Justin confided to the camera. Dean forgave him a bit for being in a boy band. 

Then the video faded away and screen showed Sam, in live-time, on stage. The electric guitar whined to life, and the show began. Sammy plucked the microphone from the stand strutted to the front of the stage. “_Man it’s a hot one, like seven inches from the midday sun; I hear you whisper and the words melt everyone, but you stay so cool; My munequita my Spanish harlem mona lisa, you’re my reason for reason, the step in my groove.”_ He did a move, the slow rolls of his hips and a snapping turn. A group of young girls in the crowd went ballistic, standing, and crying and holding up a glittering sign that said, _Sam Winchester Marry Me!!!!! _

The sign and crying girls distracted Dean for a minute, and when his attention moved back to his brother, he was sliding out of the chorus into the end of the song. “_I’ll tell you one thing, if you would leave it would be a crying shame. In every breath and every word I hear your name calling me out. Out from the barrio you hear my rhythm from your radio. You feel the turning of the world so soft and slow, turning you round and round_.”

Sammy ended with mic close to his mouth, sweat dripping down his temples, and his top button of his shirt undone. Dean was impressed. Apparently, so were the judges.  “You blew that out of the water!” Justin Timberlake exclaimed with a pump of his fist. Dean decided the man might be okay to have a drink or two with.

“Amazing, amazing!” Paula clapped her hands and brought them to her mouth. Her earrings dangling prettily from her ears. Since only three judges were allowed to talk per turn, Kara was the last to go. “Sam Winchester, you are what this competition is about. Good looks, smooth voice, and originality.”

Sam stumbled back into to the lounge looking high and star-struck. “Nice dance moves, Sammy,” Dean joked.

Sam didn’t even take the bait. “That was… unbelievable! Dean, I’ve never experience a rush like that before. The audience screaming; the live band. God.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead and pushed back his hair.

Dean threw his brother a small towel. Sam caught it with ease. “You did good.”

“Thanks Dean.” Ava and Sarah came over to applaud Sam’s performance. Sam soaked up their attention. Even Meg slinked across, placed her hand on Sam’s back and whispered words of cheer. Dean missed Jake’s performance, but the man looked pretty pleased with himself when he came back. One by one the other contestants did their thing. Gordon stomped back in when he was finished, looking like he was ready to murder someone. Simon had told him to loosen up.

Ruby strolled in smug. She popped open a can of Sprite and said, “Beat that, bitches.” When Sarah came back in, she looked ready to cry. Sam had his arm around her in seconds. Ash and Andy came back sweaty, but looking just as calm as when they went on. Bela didn’t do a bad job, but her song choice wasn’t the best. Still, she gave everyone a look that dared them to comment badly on her performance. Jo came back disappointed, despite the fact she wasn’t bad. Dean felt slightly sorry for her. They had both wanted to do the same song, but Dean had won it. In the end she had chosen to sing Pink’s _Most Girls_. He had never heard the song before, but he thought it suited her.

Meg went second to last. As Dean watched her skinny fame try to seduce the audience with _Cowboy Take Me Away _by the Dixie Chicks, his nerves began to tingle. His foot began to tap up and down, seemingly possessed. Finally, Meg came back, and it was his turn. Her side brushed against his as they passed each other by. _Gross, _Dean thought, _now I have cooties. _   

The stage was bright. Spotlights danced everywhere. Dean could barely make out the judges. Then the lights dimmed and focused as Seacrest walked up to him. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have our last contestant of the night, singing Bon Jovi’s _It’s My Life_. Before he sings, let’s see his practice.”

Dean turned around to view the giant screen. Like everyone else, it cut to his confessional first. “Bon Jovi is an awesome band.” It was strange watching himself on that huge-ass screen. “_It’s My Life _has a great beat, and I love rocking out to it in the car.” The scene changed to his practice with Justin Timberlake. Since he wasn’t a fan beforehand, meeting the man hadn’t been on his list of must-do’s. It didn’t mean that he was rude or anything. He took the man’s advice – _“be yourself Dean. Don’t let Hollywood change you. Sing what you love, and your passionate nature will shine through.” _– and stored the experience away with everything else he didn’t know what to do with.

The video ended, and Dean took his place behind the microphone. He wrapped his fingers around it then popped it off the stand, the same way Sammy had done. He began tapping out the beat with his foot. The theater went dark for a split second, then the lights blasted back on, sweeping across the stage and settling over him. Holding it in his right hand, he brought the mic close to his mouth. “_This ain’t a song for the broken-hearted,” _he began slowly. He kept his eyes open. “_No silent prayer for the faith-departed.”_ He brought his other hand up to the mic, and wrapped it under his right. The music buzzed through his veins, mixing with the screams of the crowd. Sammy was right. This was a rush. _“I ain't gonna be just a face in the crowd. You're gonna hear my voice when I shout it out loud.”_

He pressed forward, using his legs to propel him as he sang. “_It’s my life; it’s now or never. I ain’t going to live forever. I just wanna live while I’m alive.” _The crowd screamed out, matching his word, “_It’s my life.”_ Energy, like none he’d ever felt, electrocuted him. 

_“My heart is like an open highway. Like Frankie said I did it my way. I just wanna live while I'm alive. It's my life.” _He thrust out his hand, like he was going to reach into the crowd and pluck someone onstage. There was a lull in the words of the song, and he pulled the mic away from his face as the band played the short musical intermission. Then yanked it back towards his mouth and sang, _“This is for the ones who stood their ground. For Tommy and Gina who never backed down. Tomorrow's getting harder make no mistake, Luck ain't even lucky; Got to make your own breaks.”_ 

He sang until there were no more lyrics left to sing. He sang the shit out of Bon Jovi’s song. Then it was done. The music cut off, and Dean was left with his own harsh pants, and the crowd’s exuberant screaming. He looked out at everyone, at the fans holding up signs with his and the other contestants’ names. They were a jumble of noisy colors.

When Ryan Seacrest put his hand flat against Dean’s back, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Not that he’d ever admit that, even while being tortured. “So Dean, how was your first performance in front of a live audience?” His question seemed sincere, but Dean could see his amusement at Dean’s excited awe. Dean was too juiced up to care about Seacrest’s douchiness.

“Aww, man, just awesome.” Dean’s mouth hurt from grinning so hard, and his vocal chords ached with use.

“Great! Let’s see what the judges have to say.” Seacrest turned his attention to the panel, and Dean tried to do the same. He was riding so high that he couldn’t care less what they were about to say.

The guest judge went first. “Dean my man,” Timberlake said with a grin, “You are true rock star. My nerves are zinging from that performance.” Dean was flashed a smile that made him think, _Dude, that guy must be getting laid every second of every day. _

Randy went next. “Dawg, dawg, DAWG!” He slammed his hand onto the table with each word. “That was electric! Best performance of the night.” The crowd went wild at his words.

Paula looked like she wanted to speak, but Simon took the last turn. He waved his hand at the audience to get them to calm down, and then spoke. “I agree that was a good performance.  You, like your brother, have great control over your voice.” The noise level bounced up again. “However,” Simon said in his classic brutal honesty, “you need to be original.” The crowd booed. The British judge ignored them. “You need to make the song your own. Give it your own flair, not just mimic the original performer.”

Dean nodded. He understood that. Originality was what made a musician great. He gave a quick thanks to the judges and trotted off stage. With his high seemingly staying the night, Dean thought, _bowling tournament round two. Gordon you better watch out. I’m coming back for revenge.  _ _  
_


	7. The Top 11

_We have gone from twelve contestants to eleven. This week’s performances will determine the top ten- those who will be a part of the American Idol tour. Who will rise up and wow us all? Who will fall and disappoint? Let’s find out._

_~//~_

The Wednesday night results show went pretty much how Dean imagined it would. He was never worried about Sammy or himself. He knew Sarah was going home. Hell, they all knew Sarah was going home. Sam had spent Tuesday night with his arms wrapped around the girl, lying in a hammock outside by the pool. The few times Dean had taken a break from Bowling Tournament Round 2 to visit his brother and the sweet socialite, she had red-rimmed eyes and a sad, resigned expression on her face.

Before the show, Sammy had cornered him by the buffet table and said, “She thinks she’s going home tonight.”         




Dean was about to say, “She is,” but took a good look at his brother’s face and said instead, “You never know. America might be just as in love with her as you.”

“I’m not in love with her, Dean,” Sammy replied. However, hope seeped into his eyes. “You really think she has a chance?”

_No, _Dean thought. Aloud he said, “Course I do, Sammy. She’s a great girl. Hell, I’d much rather have her around than some of the other creep-os we’ve got.”

Sam shook his head in exasperation. “Dean, all the girls are fine. There are no creep-os here.” He paused then added, “Except maybe Gordon.”

Dean didn’t want to get into a discussion about Gordon again, so he shook his head and said, “Think what you want, Sammy, think what you want.”

Justin Timberlake came backstage to chat, and everyone seemed to act like school girls in love. Dean just rolled his eyes and kept an eye out for Sarah and his brother. Eventually, Mikey the PA guided everyone on stage to the plush couches. The audience was restless, even more so than the contestants, and they all jumped to their feet when the four judges and Seacrest took their places.

A spurt of the American Idol theme song beeped overhead-  the signal that the show was about to begin- and everyone’s game faces switched on. Seacrest did his usual spiel, introducing the judges and commenting on the contestants. Dean did have to give the man credit; he was excellent at creating hype when there was very little of it to begin with. One-by-one the host revealed the results. Sarah was the first called on stage. She was among the bottom three. No one was surprised. Then Seacrest called out Ash’s name. Dean felt a pang of worry. He didn’t want Ash to go home. Finally, Meg was called out and Dean couldn’t help but smile. _Maybe that bitch is going home tonight. _

Results card in hand, Seacrest told Ash he was safe from tonight’s elimination. Andy, who was sitting to Dean’s left, released a loud sigh of relief. He gave the mullet-haired man a hearty slap on the back when he retook his seat. Dean was right there with him. The two girls remained. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the host called out, “in my hands are the results of yesterday’s voting. I know who’s safe and who’s going home.” Sarah shoots Sam a heart-wrenching look. “Before I reveal the results, we’ve got a special performance by Mr. Justin Timberlake himself.” Meg’s mouth pressed into a hard line, and if Seacrest had been standing a little closer, Dean had no doubt she would have decked him.  Or possible bitten him. He didn’t know what she was capable of. “Here he is folks, singing his latest single, _Love is a Dance Move.”_

__The lights went dim, and Seacrest guided Sarah and Meg to the left of the stage, where three stools were waiting to be used. Just as they took their seats, red and blue spotlights zoomed across the stage and out walked JT himself, dressed to the nines in blue pinstriped suit. The beat was hypnotic, and Dean, who will forever deny that there’s any good pop music, found himself bobbing his head.

In Dean’s opinion, the song wasn’t anything special. It sounded like every other hip-hop pop song he had been forced to listen to on the radio. However, watching the star dance, Dean understood why he was famous. _Goddamn, that man can move, _Dean thought in wonder. Faster than Dean could keep track of, Timberlake twisted his body and shifted his feet. Watching him, Dean suddenly understood the power of a good performance. _Hell, you could be an awful singer, but if you could dance like that, you’d have people entrapped in seconds. _

Finally, Seacrest revealed results. “Meg,” he said, card clutched close to his chest, “Simon said you need to have better song choices, but Paula said you had a sweet voice and a distinct edge.” He turned toward the dark haired girl. “Sarah, Randy said you chose the wrong song. Simon said you have no control over your voice and need more vocal lessons.” He paused one very long second. “Meg, you are safe tonight. Sarah, I’m sorry, you had the least amount of votes and are going home.”

Meg didn’t hide her pleasure. A wicked grin of triumph graced her face as she wandered back over to the couch. Sarah looked ill. She was pale, and looked as if she was going to cry. Sam stood up to console her while Ava congratulated Meg. Seacrest wasn’t finished. “Tune in next week as our contestants sing a song from the Big Band Era. Goodnight. You’re watching American Idol.”

The cameramen indicated they were finished, and everyone trampled off stage talking a mile a minute. Dean could hear the audience being ushered out- they walked like a stampede of elephants- and he spotted the judges sneaking past everyone, heading for their own dressing rooms. Sammy, Jo and Jake were huddled around Sarah saying who knows what.Dean had no idea what to say to someone who just had their dreams crushed. _Sorry, better luck next time? Better you than me? _No, he wasn’t good at comforting words. Across the room, Meg, Bela, Ash and Andy were joking around, smiles plastered to their faces. Dean didn’t want to go over there either.

So he milled around, flashing grins to the PAs and eyed what was left on the buffet table. Just as he decided a trip to the little boy’s room was a good idea, Kim, one of the show’s producers called out his name. “Dean Winchester, I need to talk to you.”

Kim looked like a mom. She was short, pudgy and wore her dark brown hair in a bob. Despite her warm look, she was sharp as a blade and very focused on getting what she wanted. Being what she needed didn’t sit well with Dean. “What’s up?” He asked when she came in talking distance. 

Her pointy nose wrinkled and she pointedly asked, “Why wasn’t there anybody in the audience for you and your brother?”

“Uh…” he said.

“We gave each of you six tickets for your friends and family. Yet, there’s nobody here for yesterday or today’s show.” She poked him in the chest. _Oww, _he thought and rubbed lightly at the spot.

“There’s nobody to come,” he said, knowing that didn’t sound right. _Why wasn’t she asking Sammy these questions? _His brother was good at defecting question like this.

“Nobody?” she said in disbelief. “What about your parents? Girlfriends? boyfriends? For fuck your third-cousins once removed?”

“Our mom is dead.” Dean mumbled, looking at the ground. “Our dad is AWOL.”

For a moment Kim looked remorseful, but then she drove on. “Okay, no parents. There’s got to be somebody. Your seats can’t be empty.”

_Well, why the fuck not? _Dean thought. Why couldn’t he and Sammy sing their hearts out and support each other? It was what they’d done their whole lives. He gave a pout, but she just frowned. So he thought about who they could invite. Bobby popped into his mind. He imagined the man’s grease-stained t-shirts and dirty trucker hats and almost laughed at the thought of him sitting in the audience. _No way Bobby would ever come to something like this, despite how much he cares for Sammy and me. _

Then Pastor Jim came to mind. _He might be willing to come, _Dean thought. In fact, Dean knew that if he asked, the priest would be there in the audience every week, cheering them on. However, there was no way he could ask the man to leave his church and parishioners for that long. _It’s a big time commitment. Not to mention things like this are not really Jim’s specialty. _Jim was great for a moral talk or soothing an emotional wound, but music was not his thing. He’d probably complain of hearing loss after one show. The thought made Dean smile.    

He stared at Kim. “Uh, let me talk to my brother. We’ll find some people to come.” _Maybe some of his college friends would like to come. Hell, maybe Mandy from the bar would come. _ 

She blinked at him and turned from crazy-assed producer to friendly woman. “Great! I’ll expect those seats filled next week,” she said then promptly walked away. Dean just stood there like a fish out of water.

Gordon took that moment to appear at his side. “What was that all about?” the black man asked.

Dean looked at him and replied, “Nothing important.” He took in Gordon’s frown and tense shoulders and asked, “Hey man, what’s wrong?”

“Did you hear Seacrest? Our genre for next week is Big Band music. I have no idea what to sing.”

Dean’s stomach clenched. _What the hell is Big Band music? _Shit. If he didn’t even know what the genre was, how in the hell was he supposed to sing it? He rubbed at the spot where he had been poked again and said, “Yeah, it’s going to be tough.” Gordon nodded, and then went off on a shtick about the producers being prejudiced and having ridiculous expectations and something about his sister’s prom. Dean wasn’t really listening. He just nodded every so often. He was too busy planning how he was going to steal Sam’s laptop and learn what Big Band music was.

~//~

The limo ride back to the mansion was uncomfortable. Meg spent the whole time giving everyone smug-ass smiles, and Sarah just laid her head on Sam shoulder and looked like someone had killed her dog. Everyonehigh-tailed it out of the car as soon as it stopped. Sammy followed Sarah upstairs to her room to spend time with her as she packed. Jo came over to Dean and said, “This sucks.”

Her eyes were sad, and her whole body drooped like a wilted flower. Dean suddenly remembered Sarah was her roommate.  “Yeah it does.” He looks around the house, at Bela, Ruby and Meg sitting on the couches in the living room with the television flipped on, at Jake heading to the bowling alley to work off steam, and at Gordon who was already in the kitchen, chopping up pork chops for the stir-fry he’d been talking about all day. Everything seemed too much. He needed to get out.

“Want to go pick up my car with me?” He asked Jo. She nodded, and he called a cab. When it arrived five minutes later he shouted out, “We’ll be back in an hour or so,” to anyone who was listening and left.

He and Jo let the cabdriver do all the talking. He excitedly talked about their performances, about past seasons, and the way his little girl wanted to dye her hair blonde to look like the ‘American Idol girls’. Jo snorted and gave Dean a look that screamed, _people are dumb-asses_. Thoughts swirled through Dean’s mind. _Life is fucking unfair. _Why should a sweet girl like Sarah have to go, but a bitch like Meg get to stay? Why was the first girl Sam liked since Jess dangled before his eyes like candy, only to be taken away with a laugh?Why was finding people to be their ‘family and friends’ in the audience such a hassle? So what if they didn’t have any other family? There were lots of solitary people out there. Why couldn’t Dean just sing what he wanted and be damned to the rest?

The twenty-five minute drive to the storage facility went quickly, but it was pitch black by the time they arrived. He shoved a fifty at the cabdriver and said, “Keep the change.” Jo gave the man an autograph. Dean yanked his keys from his pocket and hurriedly opened the storage unit’s door. 

“Baby,” he sighed when the Impala came in view. He stepped forward and pulled off the blue tarp that had been protecting her from dust. Even in the harsh street light she looked beautiful.

“Damn,” Jo whistled. “You weren’t kidding. She’s a beauty.”

Dean smiled and ran his hands over her top. The metal was smooth and warm under his skin. “She is.” God, he had missed her. Just laying his hands on her frame again made his load easier to carry. “Come on, let’s drive her back.” Dean unlocked the driver’s side door and slid in. He reached across the seat and popped open the passenger side lock. Jo angled her body in and took a seat. “She’s a bit musty, but we’ll roll down the windows and get some fresh air cycling through her.”

Jo nodded then said, “Notice there’s no CD player. Got any cassettes?”

Dean turned on the ignition and practical hummed when she sounded as good as ever. Then he reached across Jo’s lap and flipped open the glove compartment. She took out the box of tapes and started to flip through them. “Find some Zeppelin,” Dean commanded. He drove his car from the lot and guided her back onto the freeway. Jo put in a cassette and _Stairway to Heaven _blasted from the speakers. Dean grinned and gave Jo a happy look. 

It took Dean nineteen minutes to get back to the mansion. He parked his baby at the side of the house, where passers-by couldn’t see her, and walked with Jo inside. Sam and Sarah were inches apart, hovering near the front door. Dean peeked a look outside, and was surprised to see a cab. _How did I miss that on the way in? _Jo immediately went up to Sarah and wrapped her arms around the other girl.

Sammy jumped on him. “Where have you been?” he barked out.

Dean was taken completely aback. “Woah. What’s with the attitude?”

“Attitude Dean? Sarah’s leaving, and you cart Jo, her closest friend here, off to God knows where, and they almost miss saying goodbye. How do you think that makes Sarah feel?”

Dean’s mouth fell open. “Dude, calm down. I was picking up the Impala. I didn’t think we’d miss Sarah leaving.” Dean hadn’t thought Sarah would be leaving till early tomorrow morning. _They sure don’t give a contestant much time to get their affairs in order. _

Sam threw up his hands. “All you think about is that damn car of yours. You don’t care about anybody else’s feelings.” Sam’s voice got louder, and Ava and Jake, who were standing in the foyer, turned to look. Jo and Sarah were already staring. 

“Woah, Sammy. I understand you’re upset your girlfriend’s leaving, but that’s no reason to take it out on me,” Dean responded to his brother’s tone by getting louder himself.

“Jesus Dean, you just don’t get it, do you?”

Sam paused to take a breath and went to continue, but Dean had enough. He just couldn’t handle this right now. He strode over to Sarah and pulled her into a hug. “Sorry about getting cut. It shouldn’t have been you. Keep in touch with Sammy.” She gave him startled nod; he released her. Not looking at anything, or anybody else, he clomped up the stairs until he’d passed Andy and Ash’s room. Making a split decision, he backtracked. 

He didn’t even knock, just barged in. Both men we sitting on the floor in the corner, their backs to the wall, legs spread wide and were smoking joints. Andy nearly jumped out of his skin at Dean’s entrance. He fumbled his joint then looked at the eldest Winchester accusingly. “Dean! My man, don’t scare me like that. You could have been the producers!”

“Or the cameramen,” Ash added helpfully. He didn’t look startled to see Dean at all. He just nodded his head and held out the joint. “Dude, you look like you could use it.”   




Dean growled and marched over to the guy and snatched the joint from his fingers. He took a long drag, let the smoke settle into his lungs, and then had a minor coughing fit. “Never smoked before?” Andy asked.

Dean’s eyes watered when he said, “It’s been a while.” He settled down next to Ash, back against the wall and took another hit. He could already feel the drug working. Pot, or drugs in general, weren’t his thing. He had smoked joints a few times in high school, but his Dad’s no tolerance stance on drugs had a lingering effect on him to this day. Besides, taking care of a growing little brother and being high didn’t mix. Sammy’s needs had always outweighed the calming benefit of narcotics. 

His head fell back again the wall, and a spike of pain echoed through his skull. He sucked down another lungful of smoke. Ash tapped his arm. “Hey man, we share here in this room.” Dean handed back the joint and closed his eyes and let the drug-induced euphoria wash over him.

They sat there in silence for a good ten minutes. Andy got Dean his own joint, and Dean toked like there was no tomorrow. There was a haze of smoke above their heads, and Dean wondered if they were far enough away from the door to keep it from filtering through. Then Dean remembered next week’s singing genre. “Do you guys know what Big Band music is?”

Andy snorted, like Dean had told a good joke and said, “Yeah man. It’s music from like the thirties and forties. It’s jazz with big bands. Lots of trumpet players, and trombones and instruments.”

“Duke Ellington,” Ash added, as if Dean had any idea who that was.

“Oh, right,” Dean replied. He was about to ask if they knew any good songs, when the door burst open. Dean felt too calm to even startle.

“Hey guys, do you know where my broth…” Sam began then stopped when he caught sight of Dean. His mouth flailed opened, and utter shock flashed across his face.

“Dean! I can’t believe you!”

“Hey, Sammy.”

Dean eyed the shaking door frame. He wanted to jump up and run after his brother. To hold him and tell him everything was going to be alright. That the world wasn’t cruel and unfair. He didn’t.

“Dude, aren’t you going to go after your brother?” Andy asked. Dean shook his head and leaned back against the wall. “I’ve never seen you guys fight before.”

“I’ve never seen Sam mad before,” Ash butted in.

Dean looked at his companions and countered with, “Sammy’s not really angry with me. I’m just an easy target. He pissed that his girl is leaving.”

Andy nodded. “That does suck.”

“He’ll get over it.” Sam could be moodier than a pregnant woman, and he did righteous anger better than anyone Dean had ever met. But eventually he’d cool down, and everything would return to normal. Dean was sure of this fact. After all, who knew Sammy better than he?

~//~

On Saturday, after a breakfast of cold cereal and orange juice, Sammy came shuffling up to Dean, body drooped like a sad puppy. “Want some OJ?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded. Dean got up and poured him a glass. The sound of the juice hitting the glass was loud in the empty kitchen. Gordon and Jake were out running, Ava and her fiancé had gone out to breakfast, and everyone else was still asleep. Dean handed him the cup, and Sam sheepishly said, “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean licked the last bit of sugary milk from his spoon and replied, “It’s okay princess, I forgive you.”

Sam dipped his head and smiled. His shoulders slouched back in their normal, less droopy position. He took a sip of his juice and slid into the chair across from Dean’s. “So you figure out a song to sing yet?”

“No. I was getting worried waiting for your sorry ass to apologize. Dude, what the hell should I sing?”   




Sam chugged the rest of his drink then nodded to the stairs. “Come on, I’ve compiled a list of songs that would be good for you. I’ll let you listen to them on my computer.”

Dean gave his brother a shit-eating grin. He slapped him on the shoulder. “That’s my bitch.”

Sam just rolled his eyes and said, “Shut up, you jerk.”

Dean put their dishes in the sink and followed his brother upstairs. Thank god Sammy had decided to cave in before the week began, because otherwise Dean would have been stuck up the creek without a paddle. _Big Band week my ass. _

~//~

Later, after finally choosing a song, Dean took Sam for a ride in the Impala. They’re cruising through Hollywood, checking out famous people’s houses. Dean was practicing his song- Sam had the lyrics sheet and was correcting him if he got the words wrong. _Can’t do a song justice if you don’t know the lyrics. _Dean kept messing up because he kept thinking about eating a Whopper.

Sam had corrected him for the seventh time on the same verse when he noticed the blue Pontiac behind him. “Hey Sammy, hasn’t the car behind us been there for the past ten minutes or so?” Dean made a sharp right turn at the next intersection. The Pontiac followed. 

Sam shuffled in his seat to get a better look at the car. “I think it’s paparazzi,” he said.

“What?” Dean asked in confusion. “Why would paparazzi be following us around?”

His brother sighed and replied, “Dean, we’re contestants on a hit television show.”

“Sam, we’re on a reality show. And we haven’t even won yet.” Dean didn’t understand why people would be interested in him when he wasn’t famous.

Sam sighed again. “American Idol is a big deal, and its contestants attract a lot of attention. I told you this would happen.”

Dean nodded. Sammy did tell him that being followed everywhere was a price of fame. “Yeah, but I thought that would be after one of us won, not during the show.”

“Well, I guess you were wrong.”

Dean took another look at the car in his review mirror and frowned. He really didn’t care if they took his picture, but if they got too close to his baby and put a scratch or dent in her exterior there’d be hell to pay. For the moment, he decided to ignore them. He drove a few more blocks, pointing out the crazy house to his brother. Sammy had grown quiet.

“Let’s get something to eat,” Sam suggested.

“Hell yeah,” Dean exclaimed. He pulled into the first Burger King he found and order each of them Double Whoppers with cheese, large fries, and root beers. He wanted to pull into a parking space to eat his burger, but the Pontiac was still there. So instead he drove aimless until they were finished.

Sammy kept giving him these sly glances, like he had something to say but couldn’t quite make himself say it. After one long sip of his drink and another sideways glance, Dean couldn’t take it anymore. “Dude, whatever you’ve got to say, spit it out already. You’re driving me nuts!”

The youngest Winchester looked down at the grease on his fingers then out his window. “I slept with Meg on Thursday night.”

Dean nearly hit the car in front of him. His breaks squealed as he slammed on them. “WHAT?” Surely he’d heard wrong.

Sam ruffled the back of his hair. “I, uh, slept with Meg.”

Dean pulled over to the curb and faced his brother. “Jesus Sam! I knew you were badly off that night, but I didn’t know you were that bad.”

“I was feeling sad, and she was just right there with the offer.” He wouldn’t look Dean in the eye.

"God.” Dean shook his head and took a deep breath. “Was it good at least?”

Sam shrugged. “It was okay.” He looked out the window again. “Not the best.”

Dean snorted. He couldn’t imagine how sex with that boney bitch could be good. “Damn, we better get you to a doctor. You might have crabs, or something worse.” He was only half joking.

“It just…” Sam began, paused then started again. “It’s awkward now. I don’t know what to say to her.”

“Do you have feelings for her?” Dean asked in horror.

Sam shook his head hard. “No. No feelings. Truthfully, I don’t really like her that much. But now, I just don’t know what to say when I’m around her.”

“Avoid her!” Dean barked.

“Dean, how am I supposed to avoid her?” Sam asked, sounding completely exasperated. “We live together and compete in the same competition!”

“I don’t know!” 

A flash of light snapped across the driver’s side window. There was a man outside taking pictures of them. Dean frowned then rolled down his window. “Hey dude, I don’t mind you taking pictures, but could you not stand so close to my car? She’s a classic, and if anything were to happen to her I’d be mighty pissed.”

The guy blinked, like he wasn’t used to his subjects talking to him, then took a few steps back. “Sure thing.”

Dean rolled up his window and turned back to Sammy. His brother was resting his head against the headrest with both hands interlocked and pressing down into his hair. “Maybe she’ll ignore me.”

Dean thought about it then snorted. “You can wish, princess.”

“You are such a jerk.” Sam whined.

 Dean smiled and started the car. Before taking off he patted his brother’s leg and said, “Nothing wrong with that, bitch.” 

~//~

 

Suddenly it was Tuesday again. It was almost Dean’s turn to use the stage for rehearsal. Since choosing a song with Sammy on Saturday, he’d been struggling with how to sing it. He’d watched the original singer- Duke Ellington- perform it on YouTube at least fifty times. Dean liked the song, but the jazz melody, with the dozens of instruments and huge production, just wasn’t his thing. He’s been puzzling it out, talking to anyone who would listen and offer advice. Currently, he was coming from talking with J.D., the conductor of the band.

Dean was thinking about the man’s suggestion- _do what you know_\- when Jo hurtled towards him like a rocket. “Dean you’ve got to see this!” she shouted, panic in her voice.

He barely managed a “what?” before she’d shoved a magazine into his chest.

“Geeze, Jo. Anger much?” He took the magazine and held it out. “Why are you giving me a National Enquirer?” Dean wasn’t above reading this junk while waiting in line at the grocery store, but otherwise, he’d much rather pick up a car magazine.

"Look!” She thrust her finger near the bottom of the page. His mouth dropped open. It was a picture of Sam and Meg’s heads. They had been removed from a promotional shot the top twelve had taken last week. Below their pictures read the caption “_American Idol Contestant Bad in Bed! Meg Master’s Spills All!” _

“SON OF A BITCH!” Dean shouted loud enough to turn every head in the room. Swallowing, he leaned towards Jo, handed her back the paper, and whispered, “We cannot let Sam see this.”

Fate had a funny way of acting, because not two seconds later his brother came storming into the room, face red as a tomato. “Dean! Look at this!” Sam cried out, magazine in hand. Just like Jo, he thrust the paper under Dean’s nose, fingers stabbing into his own photo.    




Looking around, Dean realized that this wasn’t the best place for this conversation. He grabbed Sam’s arm and dragged him into the nearest men’s bathroom. One of the caterers was inside, and Dean nodded his head towards the door. “Get lost.” The guy scrambled to obey. As soon as he exited, Dean placed a hand on each of his brother’s shoulders. “Sammy…”

“Dean, Meg told the National Enquirer that I slept with her, and that I was bad in bed.” He yanked open the paper. “Here it all is for the world to read on page three!”

 Dean forced his hand through the paper and shoved it to the floor. “Don’t listen to that trash.” _I’m going to fucking murder Meg. _

Like Dean’s words were a trigger, Sam’s face went from angry to embarrassed. “What if I am bad in bed?”

“Sammy, you are not bad in bed.”

“How do you know? You’ve never slept with me.” 

The eldest Winchester shook his head like something was stuck in his ear. “Sam, I never want to hear me and you and sex in the same sentence again.” Sam had the grace to look ashamed. “And I know you’re not bad in bed. One, you’re a Winchester. We’re God’s gift to women.” Sam looked unconvinced of this fact.  “Two, I heard you and Jessica going at it more times than I can count, and she never seemed to get enough.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, and his nose scrunched up. Dean winced. He hoped he hadn’t done the wrong thing by mentioning Jessica. Her death was still a sensitive subject. Some days Sammy wanted to talk about her, other days not so much. Dean prepared himself for some major moping. Sam’s shoulders dropped. _Thank god, _Dean thought.

“She’s a bitch.” Sam stated.

Dean tugged on his brother’s hair and drew him in for a hug. “Dude, haven’t I been saying that all along?”

“If she wins, I’m going to be seriously pissed,” Sam mumbled into his ear. “I hope she falls off the stage tonight.”

A tentative knock on the door broke the moment. “Yeah?” Dean asked.

“Uh, Mr. Winchester, it’s uh, your turn on the stage.” Came a squeaky voice from behind the door.

Dean sighed. _Stupid bossy PAs. _“Hold your horses.  I’m coming.”  He patted Sammy’s cheek. “Go wash off your face. Cool down some.” Sam nodded.

“I’m going to go work out the kinks in my song.” Dean twisted around and pushed open the bathroom door.

“Dean,” the eldest Winchester paused. “Don’t do anything stupid. I don’t need revenge.”

 “Don’t worry Sammy. I’ll be a good boy.”

~//~

Meg, Dean found, was smarter than she looked. Someone must have told her that Sam and Dean had found the magazine, because Dean hadn’t caught hide or hair of the stick until two minutes before the show was about to start. Still, he gave the blonde bitch a murderous look as they all took their places in the lounge backstage. Sam’s lips were pressed into a hard line as he looked at her. Dean hoped he wouldn’t let her upset his performance.

Wynton Marsalis, who apparently was a huge deal in the jazz world, was their guest judge for the week. He had seemed kind of stand-offish to Dean when they had met. He had made some comment that Dean shouldn’t ruin perfectly good jazz, and Dean had buzzed him out. Pretentious prick, Dean thought. Not good mentor at all.

Tonight, Dean was performing third from last, right after Meg, once again. Sammy was sixth, after Ash. Dean tried to focus on the performances, but his mind kept wandering back to Meg’s actions. He really couldn’t let her get away with hurting his brother. Sammy went on stage and sang the shit out of Mac the Knife by Bobby Darrin. Dean did have to admit seeing his brother snapping along to his song to keep beat with the drums was pretty amusing to watch. His brother was a bit too tall and a bit too white to seem smooth performing the song, but his voice was as liquid as ever. He came back to the lounge looking pleased, but not ecstatic with his performance.

Unfortunately, Meg also sang the shit out of her song. She had on a cute little purple dress and had a flower in her hair, and charmed the pants off the judges.

“Great song choice,” Kara said.

“Entertaining performance,” Wynton Marsalis gushed.

Dumb bitch, Dean thought.

Then it was his turn. Anger at Meg and her ‘best performance yet’ churned in his gut. He stalked on stage with his electric guitar and slammed his body into the stool he had requested. The band sat still on either side of him. The big screen came to life to show the audience his practice with the jazz star and his work on the song. The audience cheered when it ended. Then the stage went dark, and a pale spotlight encircled him.

Seacrest introduced him, “Here’s Dean Winchester performing It Don’t Mean a Thing if You Ain’t Got That Swing.”

Dean strummed out the beginning riff. “It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing,” He sang slowly, dragging out the raspiness of his voice. The trombone’s whined leisurely to life. “Well it don't mean a thing, all you got to do is sing.”  The trumpets and clarinets added their two cents. “It makes no difference if it's sweet or hot,” Dean licked his lips. “Just give that rhythm ev-ry-thing you got YES!”

The tempo flared into a frenzy. Dean jumped up, kicked back his stool, and let the guitar slide to back. He brought the microphone an inch from his lips. “It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing. It don't mean a thing.” He thrust the mic away and quickly brought it back. “It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing, boy.” There was a short trumpet solo. Dean twisted around, shimming his feet. “I said it don't mean a thing and all you got to do is sing.”

The music got even louder, and Dean finished it off. “Now it makes no difference if it's sweet or hot. Just give that rhythm ev-ry-thing you got OHH! It don't mean a thing boy, if it ain't got-a-that-a-swinga!!!” Everything cut off, and the room was silent for half a second. Then the audience exploded.

Seacrest guided Dean to the front of the stage and said, “Wow! Look at that reaction!” They cheered even louder. Dean looked out over them. He was surprised to see Mandy from the bar in the audience along with several of Sam’s school friends. Dean mentally laughed. I can’t believe she came.  He wondered what Sammy had offered her. “The crowd obviously approves. Let’s see if the judges agree.”

“I must say, I’ve never seen Duke Ellington’s song done like that before. It definitely wasn’t classic jazz,” Wynton Marsalis commented with a bob of his head.

Douche, Dean thought.

 “Dean, that was wonderfully original!” Paula said flatteringly. “I am just blown away by your talent. Amazing job.”

“Dean,” Simon said, “I have to admit I was worried about you this week. I knew that jazz would be difficult for you. However, you seemed to have taken Justin Timberlake’s advice and made it your own. You took a jazz song and made it into a rock song. Well done.”

Dean flashed both the judges a smile. He blew the audience a kiss. Seacrest did his spiel about voting. He hoped America would vote for him and Sammy. Mostly, he hoped they realized what a bitch Meg was, despite her good week, and voted her off. This contest would be much prettier without her here.

&lt;!--Session data--&gt;


	8. The Top 10

_Last week more than fifty million votes were cast, determining one of the most shocking cast-offs in American Idol history. Will this week see similar results? We are down to ten contestants, with only nine more shows left, who will be our American Idol?_

~//~

Dean woke up Thursday morning thinking, _Ding-dong the bitch is dead; the bitch is dead; the bitch is dead. Ding-dong the wicked bitch is dead. _Then as he brushed his teeth and shaved he conceded. _Okay, so she not dead. But she sure is hell gone! _He passed by Ava’s room on the way downstairs and couldn’t help but stick his head in the open door.

Ava was laying in bed reading with her book propped open on a lap-desk. “Celebrating in style I see,” Dean called out.

Ava placed her bookmark into the book and flipped it close. “Hey Dean,” she said smiling. “Not quite celebrating. It’s strange not having a roommate. I had gotten used to it.”

“Come on. Admit it. You are happy Meg got voted off last night.”

She scooted to the edge of her bed and swung her feet over. “I’m not happy Meg lost.” Dean raised an eyebrow. She continued, “Though it does mean I’m one step closer to winning.” She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and gave him a sly grin.

_That’s the first competitive, slightly not-nice thing I’ve ever heard her say, _Dean thought to himself. Aloud he said, “Well, I for one am celebrating.” He slapped the door frame. “In fact, I’m going to spend the whole day celebrating. Care to join?”

She walked over to her dresser and scooped up a hair tie. She replied while pulling her hair back. “Maybe later. My fiancé- God I love saying that word- is coming over and we’re going drive to San Diego. Spend the day at the bay, seeing old Spanish fortresses and touring museums.”

“Sounds fun.” _Yeah, right. _“Okay, well have a good time.”

“Thanks! I will,” she said cheerfully.

Dean strolled down the steps and into the kitchen. “Good morning everyone!”

“You’re sure in a merry mood,” Sam mumbled from behind his coffee mug.

“Yes, I think we all know why too,” Bela said with a raised eyebrow. Even her pretentiousness couldn’t ruin Dean’s mood this morning.

Dean clapped his hands together and asked, “So who’s up for Waffle House this morning? I’m in the mood for an All-Star breakfast.”

“I’m in,” chimed Jo as she came down the stairs.

“Me too,” said Gordon even as he finished the last piece of his orange.

Jake shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t. I have a meeting with my personal trainer at ten.”

Dean tried very hard not to roll his eyes. Very hard.

“I think I’ll leave the greasy, cheap food to you guys,” Bela drawled. This time Dean did roll his eyes. As if he wanted _her_ to come.

“What about you Sammy? Up for a classic breakfast?”

“Do I have time to take a shower first?”

“Sorry, there’s a go-as-you-are rule.” Sam rolled his eyes too. Dean figured it must be genetic.

“Alright,” the youngest Winchester said then rose to his full Sasquatch height.  

After a quick, five minute rush-around- Sam needed to get his wallet and Jo needed her camera (just in case)- they piled into the Impala. Gordon wanted to sit up front, but Sam just could fit his long spider legs into the back seat without major discomfort. Besides, Sam always sat upfront with Dean. Always.

Using the GPS in Gordon’s iPhone (man, did Dean need to get one of those!) they found the closest Waffle House a few miles away. Dean’s stomach grumbled when he saw the dark yellow roof. _Mmm, waffles and eggs. A real man’s breakfast. _

__It wasn’t until the four of them were seated that Dean found the first kink in his plan. Almost everyone in the restaurant was staring at them. It was an uncomfortable feeling. So, Dean glued his eyes to the menu and ignored everyone else.

Unfortunately, Jo couldn’t do the same. “Everyone’s looking at us,” she stated.

“What do you expect?” Gordon asked roughly. “We’re famous. People are bound to stare.”

Dean placed his menu on the table. “Come-on, Gordon. We’re not exactly Brad Pitt or Angelina Jolie.”

Gordon looked him in the eye. “No, but we are talented individuals competing on top-rated reality show.”

“Dean’s just not used it. That’s all. I suspect Jo isn’t either,” Sam butted in.

“Well, they should get used to it. Fame, being stared at, is part of this business. To be famous is to be noticed,” Gordon didn’t take his eyes of Sam.

“Hey, don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Dean snapped.

“Me either.” Jo frowned.

Gordon turned towards Dean. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” Sam bumped his knee, as if to say, _Yes he did. _

“Just don’t do it again.”

Gordon gave a curt nod of acceptance, but he had an unhappy look his face

The waitress came over. “Hey guys! I just love you all on American Idol.” Her pink-painted lips parted in a smile. “I never miss a show! Crazy that Meg got voted off last night.”

“Can you take our orders please?” Gordon’s voice cut through the air.

The waitress gave him a surprised look, and her excitement faltered. “Yeah, sure. Sorry. What do you guys want?”

Everyone ordered, and she walked away to give the order number to the fry-cook. She leaned over the counter and whispered something to anther waitress. Dean felt a stab of anger. “You didn’t have to be such a dick,” he told Gordon.

“She was just excited,” Sam added.

“She can be excited and take our orders at the same time. It’s her job after all.”

“Geeze, Gordon, what crawled up your ass and died today?” Jo asked.

Gordon’s eyes darkened, and Dean suddenly felt uncomfortable. Fortunately, just at that moment the waitress returned with their coffees. As she set the ceramic mugs down with the black liquid, Dean remembered Jo and the cabdriver. He reached out and gently took hold of her wrist. “Hey what’s your name?” he asked.

She looked at where their skin touched then blushed deep red. “Angie.”

“Well Angie, I’m sorry my friend Gordon is being such a dick. He got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” She nodded, eyes never leaving Dean’s. “How about you get a piece of paper or something, and I’ll sign you an autograph.” Dean smiled one of his ‘model grins,’ (as Sammy liked to call it.) and she seemed to light up.

“Oh, that would be amazing!” He released her wrist, and she pointed to the counter. “Let me go get a marker and something for you to sign.”

She rushed away, and Dean turned to look at Gordon. He lifted his eyebrow to say, _see, that wasn’t so bad, was it?_ Gordon scowled and hid behind his coffee. Angie came back holding a small leather-bound journal and a red sharpie. She thrust them both at Dean. “This is my signature journal,” she gushed. “I carry it with me everywhere. You never know who you’re going to meet, living here in LA.”

Dean flipped though the pages. He stopped when he saw Mick Jagger’s sloppy scrawl and glanced up at Angie. “Mick Jagger? Awesome.”

She grinned. “Yeah. I met him last year when I was at the mall. He was there buying his kid a birthday present.”

“Sweet,” Dean said and found a blank page. He uncapped the sharpie and wrote Angie a message:

_To the most beautiful waitress that LA has ever seen. Love Dean Winchester. _  

Then he passed the journal to his brother. Sam smiled at him and slid the marker from his fingers. He wrote his own message and signed his name beside Dean’s. Jo hand her hands ready to take it as soon as Sam was finished. She flipped to a clean page and wrote her own note. Angie gushed the whole time about how awesome they all were. When Jo was done she held the marker and journal out to Gordon. For a moment, Dean was sure the man wasn’t going to take it. He did, with a scowl on his face.

“Thank you! Thank you so much. You guys are awesome. Meals are on the house!” That said, she twirled around and pranced off behind the counter. Dean watched as she showed her coworker their signatures.

Then a man, possible the burliest, hairiest man Dean had ever seen, swung his body from his stool at the counter and waddled over. He tugged at his beard and said, “So I could help hearing you guys were from that show American Idol.”

Sam blinked. Dean wrinkled his nose. The man smelled like onions. “Yeah, we are,” his brother answered.

“Well, I’ve got a thirteen year old daughter,” he struggled to pull something out of his back pocket. His wallet. “And she’d just love your autographs.” He showed them a picture of his daughter. She was young, red-haired, and slightly chubby.

Dean’s stomach chose that moment to send a grumbling reminder that he hadn’t eaten since dinner last night. Sam gave him a look, and he sighed. “Sure thing.” Dean reached out and took the napkin the guy was holding. When he looked up from his signature, there were six other people standing at their table. Sam was already talking to the older woman wearing a pair of orange sunglasses and dangling star earrings. Jo had taken a small notebook and was asking a middle-age man in a suit his name.

_So much for a celebratory breakfast. _

~//~

 

On Saturday Dean was lounging in chair beside the pool, humming the words to _Poison Whiskey, _figuring out vocal pitches and harmonic melodies to match his voice, when Kim, the producer came striding out through the French doors. Her black heels clicked loudly against the concrete patio squares. “Dean Winchester!” she called out, waving her hand. A large black tote bag hung over her right shoulder, and black Prada shades protected her from the winter sun. Dean waved back. Then he leaned over and poked his brother awakes.

“Whaa?” Sam groaned into the slotted lounge chair. His towel had fallen from the top of the chair and was now bunched atop Sam’s head. Dean might have taken a few pictures on his phone and sent them to Bobby. And Pastor Jim. And Sam’s friends Becky and Zack. They’d especially appreciate the pictures.

“Kim’s heading our way, looking like a woman on a mission.” Not that she ever wasn’t a woman on a mission. It’s just that sometimes she looked sweet and fierce, not just focused and fierce. Sam rubbed his eyes, looking exactly ten years old, and sat up.

The American Idol producer stopped at the end of Dean’s lounge chair, looked around, then settled on the unoccupied chair beside him.

“What’s going on, Kim?” Sam asked then yawned. “Excuse me.”

She waved her hand. “Oh honey, I’ve seen way worse than handsome boys yawning.” She pointed at Sam’s nose. “You’re a bit red.”

Sam rubbed his nose. Dean said, “It’s not sunburn.”

Sammy glared at him.

“So boys, I need videos and pictures of you growing up. Talents shows, home concerts, anything displaying your musical abilities.” Dean blinked. He wasn’t expecting that. He opened his mouth to ask why, but she answered before he could say anything. “Since the numbers are starting to dwindle, we have more time during each show to share with America exactly who you are, and where you came from.” At Dean’s look she added, “No, no just you, but all the contestants. We usually go with family stories, accounts by parents and siblings, about how you would sing in the shower or perform shows for the neighbors. Stuff like that.”

Dean wondered how she could breathe, talking that fast.

“Now, we will tape each of you talking about the other growing up, but since your parents are gone, and you don’t seem to have any other family to talk about you, we decided to go with videos.” Her eyes turned sharp. “You do have videos right. Everyone these days has videos.”

“Uhhh,” Dean said. He had some pictures in his wallet. One of the family before Mom died. One of Sammy’s high school graduation. One of their road trip out to Stanford. 

“You know, I think we do.” Sam stated. Dean looked at his brother. Sam expanded. “Remember in sixth grade when I got that video camera for an autobiography project.”

Dean snapped his fingers. “Yeah. You walked around with the lens attached to your eye for weeks. It’s in the trunk of the Impala.”

Sam shook his head to move his bangs and said to Kim, “I’m about twelve in them, and Dean’s sixteen. I don’t remember everything I taped, but I’m sure there’s something on the tapes with Dean and I singing.”

“Sounds good. Get me those tapes, and I’ll have a technician go through them and pick out something appropriate for the show. Now offer me something to drink.”

Dean snorted and gave her a salute. “Yes ma’am!”

She smiled, “Damn straight.”

~//~

_They didn’t use the videos tonight, _Dean thought as he walked on stage. It was down to the final ten- _damn it was good to know Meg wasn’t going on tour with them- _and Dean was finally going first.

Since it was country night, Dean thought it was officially a good idea to take his guitar on stage with him. He knew he wasn’t the only one. He saw Ash with his battered, wooden acoustic guitar practicing yesterday at rehearsals. Dean only had an electric guitar, but he figured that was just fine.

Ryan Seacrest introduced his song, “To start us off tonight we have Dean Winchester singing _Poison Whiskey_ by Lynyrd Skynyrd.” The crowd cheered, the drummer began the beat, and the spot lights turned blue.

Dean sang. “_Daddy was a Cajun baby, raised on Southern land. So my kinfolks tell me, was a street-fightin' man.”_ He sang slow and deep, trying to use every bit of southernness he had left from living in Lawrence.  “_Well, they rushed him down to see the doctor. ‘Hey doctor, won't you check his head?’ The only thing that was wrong with him, Was Johnny Walker's Red.”_ He let his voice fade, and he strummed on his guitar. His chest clenched as he let the lyrics hit home. Then he continued. “_He drank ole poison whisky; 'Til it killed him dead.”   _

_"It happened back in the bayou many years ago. Satan came to take him, and he did it real slow. Well, they rushed him back to see the doctor. The doctor just shook his head, ‘Twenty years of rotgut whisky done killed the poor man dead_.’” The musical riff played again, letting Dean catch his breath. Dean thought of Sammy sitting in the contestant’s lounge behind the stage listening to the lyrics. He thought of Dad, and drinking, and Satan and demons. He bowed his head to look at the floor and sang, “_He drank ole poison whisky; 'Til it killed him dead.”_

Letting old hurts and unhealed wounds push rough anger into his voice, Dean crooned the rest of the song staring into the faces of the audience. “_Take a tip from me, people... brothers can't you see. Ain't no future in ole poison whisky. They're gonna rush you down to see the doctor, The doctor's gonna shake his head. The only thing he's gonna tell ya ‘Stop drinkin' Johnny Walker's Red. Don't drink poison whisky, don't you drink it, boy.’_”

The music faded fast. The roar of the audience’s cheering seemed distant. Dean’s heartbeat was loud in his ears and rapid in his chest. He licked his lips and swallowed the baseball in his throat. A hand touched his shoulder, and he startled. Seacrest’s blonde tips came into view, and everything snapped back into place.

Heat flushed into his cheeks as Dean followed the host to the front of the stage. For the first time since beginning the show, he was glad for the annoying man’s desire to touch him. Seacrest’s manicured hand was a grounding point for Dean’s emotions. As the guest judge, a beautiful but married woman named Faith Hill, started speaking, Dean remembered to give the judges his full attention.

He plastered a smile on his face as the country star said, “That was a perfect song choice for you. Lynyrd Skynrd were the rock of country music. You didn’t go with their classic _Sweet Home Alabama, _which I think was wise, but Poison Whiskey was perfect for your range and personality.”      

Dean smiled and said, “Thanks.”

Randy went next. “Dean, so listen, dawg. There’s a saying that a good singer can sing anything. You proved that tonight. You took your alternative rocker style and sang a country song. Awesome man.”

“Dean, I agree with both Faith and Randy. Your song choice was perfect. It was apparent that this song held meaning for you. I felt your emotions bleeding through the song.” Paula began clapping. “I’m giving you a round of applause.”

Dean gave her another fake smile. Seacrest guided him back a few feet, and he said, “If you liked Dean tonight, vote for him at 1-866-IDOLS-01 or text VOTE to 5701.” Dean stood there for a minute more, and then walked off stage.

Before returning to the lounge he stopped by the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He forced thoughts of his dad from his mind and focused in on the performance he’d just given. _You just rocked out a country song. Be happy. _As soon as he walked into the lounge, Sam was there squeezing his shoulder. His brother had a dopey look on his face, all rounded eyes and pinched mouth. Dean brought his brother in for a hug. Sometimes he was grateful for Sam’s long arms. They felt good around his shoulders.

“You did good,” Sammy whispered into his ear.

Dean exhaled, pulled away and replied, “Yeah, well you’re going to kick _The House Rules’ _ass.”

Sam grinned and scratched the back of his neck. “Should I wear the cowboy hat?” He pointed to the large tan hat resting on the couch next to Andy.

“If you wear that hat, I’ll disown you.”

Sam laughed. He punched Dean lightly on the arm. Then his expression turned serious again. “Dean, I love you.”

“Dude,” Dean waved his hands. “No chick flick moments.”

 “Sor-ry,” Sam replied, though Dean didn’t think he looked sorry. But that was okay. Dean loved Sam too.


	9. The Top 9

** Chapter 9- The Final 9 ** **   
**

**** _It’s down to our final nine contestants, and this week they will battle it out with their chosen Classic Rock song. Let’s watch our performers and, remember, vote for your favorite!_

_~//~_

Ash lifted his beer and clinked it against Dean’s. “Here’s to making it this far.” Ash’s voice and the chime of their bottles hitting echoed through out the empty restaurant. At three in the afternoon the lunch crowd was long gone, and the thought of dinner was just popping into peoples’ minds.  The two American Idol contestants had placed their orders for beers and burgers not five minutes before. Their drinks had arrived promptly and were pleasantly cold. Dean assumed their meals would soon follow.

“Hell yeah,” Dean responded then brought the Budweiser to his lips. The bottle was sweating and wetted his hand, but the beer was bitter and tasty. He took another sip. He watched as Ash drained his own drink.  “Going kind of strong there, aren’t ya, buddy?”     




Dean sipped his beer and lifted an eyebrow.

Dean lifted his eyebrow again.

Ash spread his arms wide, like he was saying, ‘_what man?’_ He huffed, took another swig of his beer then said, “Fine, fine. You caught me. I’m worried dude. My nerves are eatin’ at my brain.”

“Dude, what are you worrying about?” Dean set his bottle on the table.

“Going home man!” Ash exclaimed. Then he said it again, this time morosely. “Going home.”

“Ash, there is no way you’re going home. You are an awesome guy and a great singer.”

“Dean my man, I think it’s time you woke up and smelled the coffee. I may be a good singer, but compared to the rest of you, I suck.” He took a long pull on his beer. “I don’t even know how I made it this far.”

The Winchester shook his head in disbelief. “Now, I admit that Sarah was a prettier picture than you,” Ash snorted, “but she sure wasn’t as good a vocalist as you are. You have style and raw talent. And Meg…” Dean trailed off. He had to admit, at least to himself, that Meg was talented in the singing department. She was a girl who knew her own strengths and played up to them. So instead of commenting on Meg’s performance abilities, Dean finished his statement by saying, “Meg was a first class bitch. She’s a skanky skeleton with no morals and bad breath.”

Ash bobbed his head. Dean wasn’t sure if the man was agreeing with him or keeping the beat of the music that was playing. The Rascal Flats’ ‘_Shine On’_ had started to play. A few seconds passed while Ash finished his second beer, and then he said matter-of-factly, “I was the worst performance by far last night. Country and rock are my music, but I couldn’t even pull off country night with an above average performance.”

Uneasiness settled in Dean’s stomach. He wanted to argue, tell his friend that he was being stupid and paranoid. He opened his mouth to spout off some pretty examples of Ash’s awesomeness, but a thought stopped him. _Ash wouldn’t appreciate a lie. _Ash was an upfront guy. He told it like it was, whether it was what you wanted to hear or not.

“I guess I have to come to terms with it. Not being America’s next idol.” The waiter came with their burgers, bringing relief to the heavy atmosphere at the table. They both ordered another beer- Ash’s third and Dean’s second- and ate their meal in silence. When the last fry was stuffed in his mouth Dean pushed aside his plate and drank the last gulp from his beer. Ash spoke again. “I mean I want to win.” Dean nodded. Who didn’t? “But I really don’t want to be famous. Rich, hell yeah, but famous? No thanks. Being mobbed by adoring fans and dissed by haters is not fun in my book.” He chuckled and looked up at Dean. Dean was proud that he didn’t look away.

“The adoring fans part is going to take some getting used to. I’m not sure I like random strangers coming up to me asking for my autograph,” Dean said with a small shake of his head and a sideways grin.

Ash laughed again, but when he stopped, Dean could feel his sadness in the air. Dean reached across the table and gave him a mild punch on the arm. “Hey, don’t be too worried. I mean, look what happened last week. Meg got sent home. No one expected that.”

“Man, was that a shock. I’ve never seen someone so pissed off in my life,” Ash said with an amused snort.

The waiter came with their checks and a subtle plea for their autographs. Dean sent Ash an exaggerated eye roll and signed the back of the merchant’s copy check: _Thanks for the good food. Dean Winchester. _  

Ash laughed and wrote: Drink beer, make friends, be happy. Ash Jennings (AKA the Sexy Bastard with the mullet).

The words made Dean snicker. He looked at his watch then said, “Come on. Let’s get out of here. It’s time for the hell of wardrobe and make-up.”

Ash replied, “And then it’s show time.”

Dean tried to ignore the fatality of those words.

 

~//~

 

It was a punch to the gut. It was always difficult to see talented individuals lose a chance to accomplish their dreams. Some cried. Some raged. Others left with graceful smiles and words of heartfelt gratitude at the chance of a lifetime and experiences gained. Dean felt sorry to see some go, while others he waved goodbye with malicious glee.  But Dean hadn’t really been attached to any of the other contestants the way he was to Ash.

Ash had been with him almost from the start. _We fucking sung Billie Joel together! _A shared encounter like that brought guys together. They had gone through the Hollywood auditions together- hell, Ash was the only reason he hadn’t beat the shit of those douchebags Nick and Joe, and in consequence been booted off the show. Ash had listened as he bitched about Sammy when his brother was being a sullen teenager.

Dean kicked the doorframe. “This fucking sucks,” he said aloud.

Sam wrapped his hand around Dean’s shoulders, “Dean…”

He whirled around. “What Sam? You going to tell me this isn’t fucking wrong? That you don’t care if Ash is leaving?” 

Sam shook his head. “Of course not! Ash is my friend too. I don’t want him to go anymore than you do. But Dean,” Sam gripped both of Dean’s shoulders to hold him still, “this is a competition. People we care about are going to go. It’s the way things are.”

“It isn’t right,” Dean said, his steam slowly draining. For the first time in a long while he felt tired.

“I know.” Sam squeezed his shoulders. “Let’s go say goodbye.”

Dean swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat. He never did like saying goodbye. Too many goodbyes in his life had been permanent. “Okay.”

He followed his brother downstairs to the front porch where everyone was giving Ash heartfelt well wishes and farewells. Tears streamed down Jo’s face and Andy had dried streaks on his face. For the first time in ages the hippie didn’t seem stoned. Ava had her arms wrapped around her torso and was nibbling on her lip. Gordon also had his arms crossed, and while his stand wasn’t exactly friendly, it wasn’t its usually angry self. He looked more resigned than anything else. Jake had Ash’s hand in a tight, friendly grip and was giving him a hearty shake. Bella was off to the side with her hands on her hips staring at Ash with an unreadable expression. Ruby stood next to her, eyes narrowed into lazy slits. Just the fact they had showed up meant something, even if they weren’t really tearful or warm.

When Dean’s boots hit the wooden floor of the foyer, Ash looked up. He smiled. Jake stepped aside and Dean slide in to take his place. He pressed his hand into Ash’s and pulled the man into a one-armed hug. “I’m sorry, man,” Dean whispered.

“What’s done is done,” Ash replied. “I’ll miss your snarky ways, my friend.”

Dean felt his chest rumble in humor, and he pulled away. “Thanks for everything, dude.”

Ash nodded. Dean let his brother say goodbye. “Don’t give up,” Sam told Ash. “This isn’t the end for you.”

Ash shrugged. “I don’t know. I love singing, man, but I’ve been doing some thinking. I might go back to MIT. They sent me a letter saying they missed me.”

Sam blinked in surprise. “You went to MIT?”

“Yep. Until they kicked me out for partying too much. Maybe this time I’ll do it right.”

“You so can!” Andy sobbed and rushed forward to enfold Ash in his arms.

Ash patted the shorter man on the back. “Keep in touch. I’ll see you guys at the finale and during the tour.” A car horn honked from outside, and Ash detached Andy from his body. He gave everyone a salute. “Mr. Badass checking out.”

~//~

Dean wouldn’t admit to depression, but nevertheless he had a slight case of it. He spent all of Thursday in front of the television watching actions movies on TNT. The explosions and car chases did a good job of keeping his mind occupied, but when Sam came over around five, knocked his feet off the coffee table and said, “Come eat. I made chilli,”

All Dean could do was grunt and shake his head, mumbling, “I’m not hungry.”

Distantly, Dean heard his brother sigh- not an uncommon occurrence- then the remote was snatched out of his hand. Dean looked up in annoyance. “I was watching that bitch.” 

“Yeah? Well, your sulking is getting on my nerves, jerk-face.”

Dean glared. “I am not sulking.”

“Dean, you just told me you didn’t want to eat.”

There was a moment of silence. Dean had to admit that was pretty damning evidence.  “Fine, maybe I’m sulking a bit. Since you have so much experience with the issue, why don’t you tell me what I should do?”

Sam made a pinched face, and Dean his chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath. “Well, one thing that always makes me feel better is good news.”

“You have some good news?” The eldest Winchester sat up straighter. This he had to hear.

Sam smiled and plopped down next to Dean on the couch. “Yes, though it’s more like a good realization than good news.”

_What the hell is that supposed to mean? _“I’m waiting.”

“Did you hear what next week’s song theme is? Or were you too focused on Ash?” Sam asked with a sly look.

“Dude, if this is about Classic Rock week, then you’re an idiot. Of course I heard Seacrest announce that. I’m not deaf.”

“Did you realize that mean you can sing Led Zeppelin’s _Ramble On_?_” _

Slowly, a smile stretched across Dean’s face. He slapped Sam on the knee. “Hell yeah!” He jumped up.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to call Kim, and take that song before anybody else does.”

 Sam rolled his eyes, but Dean didn’t care. He was going to get to sing one of the best songs ever written.

~//~

Dean walked into rehearsals on Tuesday morning, and his heart skipped a beat. Their mentor was standing there in a dark suit, with the jacket open displaying his white button-up and red and blue striped tie. His age only showed in his receding hairline and wrinkled forehead. Otherwise, despite not being in a schoolboy outfit, Dean thought the man looked just like he did in every picture and video he’d ever seen. _Angus Young is standing five feet from me. _Dean’s legs wobbled. _Motherfucking Angus Young! _ 

“Hello everyone,” the man said in greeting. His Australian accent was thick. “If you don’t know who I am- though I can see some of you do- I’m Angus Young, guitarist for the band AC/DC.” A smattering of hitched breaths went through the group. Everyone knew who AC/DC were. “I look forward to getting to work with each of you. I’m a big fan of American Idol, and I’ve been watching you all season.”

Dean’s knees went weak, and his arm shot out and grabbed his brother’s. _Angus Young has been watching us. _His stomach did somersaults.

“I’m going to take Ruby first, but don’t worry I’ll get to each of you,” Angus said with a smile.

Dean glared at the blonde haired girl and thought, _Bitch._

Angus and Ruby wandered into the sound-proof practice room, leaving everyone else to do their thing. Jo came over to him and said, “Jesus Christ, that’s Angus Young.”

Dean knew exactly how she felt. “Yeah.”

Sam rolled his eyes, and then Dean was on him, telling his brother all about the wonders of Angus Young. “Dude, he’s ranked one of the greatest guitarists ever by _Rolling Stone. _He’s in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.” When those facts didn’t seem to duly impress his brother Dean added, “He was in fucking AC/DC.” Sam shrugged, and Dean threw up his hands. “You’re a lost cause, man.”

Since Sam was an idiot, Dean spent the next half an hour pounding out Angus’ best performances with Jo. Then Angus came back with Ruby, and it was his turn. He felt breathless and high.

“I’m Angus,” the man said.

Dean took his outstretched hand, hoped his own palm wasn’t too sweaty and replied, “Dean, Dean Winchester.” Their hands dropped.

They entered the practice room, and Angus said, “Yeah mate, I’ve been keeping my eye on you this season. You’re amazingly talented.”

Blood rushed to Dean’s face fast enough to make him lightheaded. He swallowed hard before he replied, “Wow, thanks man. That’s a real compliment.”

Bowman, one of the show’s pianists, was sitting at his piano waiting for the pair to arrive. The Latino nodded at Dean and smiled at Angus, saying in his thick Hispanic accent, “Ramble On, si?”

“Right,”Dean replied.

Angus patted him on the back and said, “Excellent, excellent song.”

Pleasure washed through him, and Dean responded with, “It’s my favorite song.” Then realizing who he was talking too added, “Uh, not that I don’t love your songs. _Back in Black_ is in my car right now.”

Angus smiled, and little wrinkles appeared at his eyes. Dean had the sudden thought, _I hope I age that well. _

The guitarist laid his hand on the top of the piano and said, “Alright, let’s hear your version of Led Zeppelin’s song.”

Beetles scuttled around inside his stomach and Dean hoped he didn’t screw up. He sang. He sang to make Led Zeppelin proud. He sang to impress Angus Young. He sang to give homage to his favorite song. He sang because it was fun. When he was finished his chest heaved and sweat acted like glue between his t-shirt and skin. _And this wasn’t even the live performance. _

A heartbeat of silence had Dean worried. Then he heard Angus inhale and Dean’s eyes flew up to the man’s face. Mr. Young was sporting an ear-to-ear grin. Dean rocked on his heels. Angus whistled. “Dean my boy, that was awe-inspiring. Rock is definitely your niche. Now perform that again later tonight, just the way you did now, and you’ll knock their socks off.”

All the tense air Dean had been holding in whooshed out from his mouth.  “Aww man, you have no idea how much that means to me. Thank you.”

Angus walked Dean to the door and just as Dean’s hand curled around the handle, the guitarist stopped him with the words, “Don’t tell anyone else, but you’re my favorite. I hope you win.”

Dean’s fingers tightened around the curved knob, and he almost turned around and effulged Angus in a hug. Instead, he ignored the way his body was tingling- like a girl on her first date- and instead he let his smile do the talking.  “I appreciate that man, I really do.” The words were softly spoken. Angus patted him on the back again. Dean thought he might just hang this shirt on a hanger in his closet and never wash or wear it again.

~//~

Dean took Angus Young’s advice and belted out _Ramble On _just as he had in practice. He didn’t change much from the original version, just a faster pace and the pitch to match his voice. The original was too good to mess with. As soon as the lights dimmed, and the crowd started shrieking, Dean knew he had done the song justice. Angus, Paula and Kara were on their feet applauding with giant smiles and gleeful cheers. While both Simon and Randy weren’t standing, they were both clapping.

Ryan Seacrest calmed down the crowd, and then it was time for the judges’ comments.

Angus went first. “Dean, that was just as incredible as I expected it to be. I can’t wait to work with you in the future.”

Dean’s knees almost buckled. He gripped the microphone tight enough to hurt. He needed something to focus on.

“Wow, wow, wow!” Paula said, slapping to the table. Today she was wearing a bright pink floral top that Dean imagined was very soft. “You blow me away every time. Tonight was no different. Classic rock is your genre. Go with it and run!”

Then it was Simon’s turn. “Dean I agree with everything these two said.” The audience cheered. “And I’ve given this to one other American Idol contestant, and after that performance I’m giving it to you.” He stood and began to applaud. The room exploded in cheers, screams, random declarations of love.

Dean soaked it all in. He felt a twinge of sadness that Ash couldn’t be here to experience this, but then the adrenaline left over from singing and the crowd pushed away any depression he felt. As he looked at the crowd, and the applauding judges, Dean felt a sense of rightness the like of which he had never before experienced.

This is what I’m meant to be doing.


	10. The Top 8

**** _Welcome back to American Idol. Our numbers are dwindling, and the challenge gets more difficult every week as our contestants perform harder than ever. Who will stay, and who will go? Join me, Ryan Seacrest, and let’s find out. _

~//~

The minute hand ticked from eleven fifty-nine to twelve, and Thursday became Friday as March became April,. Los Angeles saw rain for the first time since the Winchesters had moved there. The soft pitter-patter of the droplets hitting the house was a soothing backdrop that covered the sound of the girls having a slumber party downstairs. Despite the late hour, or possibly because of it- both boys had always been night owls- Dean and Sam were up, lying on their respective beds. Sam had his back to the headboard and his laptop on his boxer covered thighs; Dean was reading the latest issue of _Old Car Weekly. _

Dean wasn’t really paying attention to his brother, but he heard a gentle sigh, and the click of the laptop being shut. He pulled his eyes off the article about the Pontiac Bonneville to look at his brother. “What’s up? No good porn?”

Sam swung his feet over the side of the bed and rested his hands on his legs, ignoring Dean’s innuendo. He didn’t look up as he said, “It’s strange. Other people have never been a big part of our lives. I mean sure, there’s Bobby and Pastor Jim, and even Caleb. But, with the way we were raised, and everything Dad put us through, you and I never really had time to make close friends. All we had was each other.”

Dean nodded, though he was unsure where his brother was going with this. He let Sam talk.

“Then, when I got accepted to Stanford, I thought everything would be different. Even though you moved with me, I figured both of us would make friends, become close to others.” Sam shook his head, like he was forcing himself to say something uncomfortable. Then he raised his head and looked Dean in the eyes. “It didn’t happen that way. I met Jess, and, yes, we connected right away, but she became my whole world. You and Jess. There was nobody else. Sure, I hung out with her friends, and I like them just fine, but I never got close to any of them. Never close enough to tell them the truth.” Sam gave a disgusted snort. “Hell, I didn’t even tell Jess the truth until after a year and half of dating.” The ‘_and_ _look how that turned out’ _hung unsaid in the air.

“And then we do this competition. I’ve never felt as close and connected as I do to some of the people here.” He paused then added, “Or were here.”

Dean swung his own legs over the side of the bed and sat up. His sockless toes touched Sam’s. “It’s the bubble.”

“What?”

Dean outlined a circle with his hands. “We are in a bubble with these other people, having shared experiences and living in close quarters. We’re bound to become attached, Sammy.”

Sam blinked and looked at Dean like he’d grown a second head.

“What? I can’t be insightful?” Dean asked with a frown and a shrug of his shoulders. He wasn’t stupid.

Sam raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “You’re right. This experience, with the fans and the tabloids, and everything else is very intense, more so than I ever thought it’d be.”

Dean nodded, agreeing. This whole experience, while exhilarating, was unendingly surprising.  Some days it was overwhelming. Sam ran a hand through his hair- it was getting too long now; Dean thought he needed a haircut- and said, “I can’t believe Andy got voted off.”

“I can,” Dean replied. Sam eyes narrowed sharply. “He’s a good singer, but Sammy, you have to admit his heart wasn’t in his last performance.”

His brother’s eyes drooped. “He was missing Ash.”

_So was I, but I didn’t suck ._“And his girlfriend. Hell, Andy said himself that he couldn’t wait to get home and sleep in his own bed with his girl.” _He didn’t even look upset when he left, _Dean thought. __

“Still, Andy was a good guy. He kept things light hearted around here. I’ll miss that.”

_True, _Dean reflected. Andy’s pot-smoking ways were a running joke between the contestants, and besides Gordon who hated drugs, everyone seemed to like the guy. It helped that Andy didn’t have a mean bone in his body. _Andy didn’t have a competitive bone in his body either. _Dean had known from the beginning that Andy’s talent wasn’t going to take him to the finish line. Andy needed drive, which he didn’t have. But the guy was friendly and charming. He reminded Dean a bit of Sam. _It’s amazing what boyish looks, a sweet grin and puppy dog eyes will get you_. Dean had good looks in spades, even if they were more modelish than boy-next door, but Sam had the puppy dog eyes nailed.

Dean nudged his brother’s ankle. “You going to cry?” he asked mockingly. 

It got the desired results. Sam’s lips pressed together in a flash of annoyed anger and his shoulders straightened. “You are such a jerk.” He reached behind him and grabbed a pillow off his bed. It flew at Dean’s head.

Dean caught it and hurled it back. “Only because you’re such a bitch.” Sam’s eyes became slits, and, with exaggerated motions, he picked up a pillow in each hand. Dean pointed a finger at the cushions. “You better not hit me with those or I’ll…” A pillow smacked him on the side of the head. Another slapped against his side.

He rolled to the other side of the bed and stood. He snatched up his own pillows and grinned.  “Oh, bitch, it is on.”

~//~

 

The atmosphere of the house was different after Andy left. Maybe the pressure of the competition was finally hitting everyone, or maybe without Andy’s laid back manner and Ash’s goofball personality, the remaining contestants didn’t get along as well as they had previously thought. Bela snarled at Gordon after he’d made a comment on the shortness of her skirt. “Gordon you are a sadist pig,” she shouted across the living room. He slid off his barstool at the kitchen island, and Dean grabbed his wrist.

“Dude, she’s just a girl.” It wasn’t what Dean believed. Bela could rip off his balls and play tennis with them before he could even open his mouth to insult her, but the words seemed to calm Gordon down. Bela, on the other hand, shot Dean a murderous look and stormed out of the house. 

Ruby came downstairs looking like she had lost a fight with a bear. Her blonde hair stuck up everywhere and she glared at everyone one while she drank her coffee. Dean swore her snake tattoo hissed at him. Though, it might have been Jo. “I’m not a little girl Dean!” she spat at him ten minutes after she woke.

“I just said you looked sleepy,” Dean said in horrified awe.

She gritted her teeth and mumbled, “I’m going running.” Her tennis shoes slapped hard against the wooden floor of the foyer as she stomped out the front door. 

Even Jake and Ava were arguing. “All I’m asking for is some consideration!” Ava growled as she walked down the steps. Jake was two steps behind her.

“I have a right to work out in my room!” he bellowed back.

“Yes, but you could not be counting out reps at two o’clock in the morning. Or at least could you count more quietly?” She swiped her hair behind her ears. Jake went straight for the refrigerator to grab one of his disgusting green, algae health shakes. Dean grimaced as he popped off the tab and took a long gulp.

“No, I can’t,” he responded when he lowered his drink. “My trainer said I need to count aloud to keep my mental strength strong while I work out.”

 _Damn, _Dean thought. _That was harsh. _

Sam took that moment to come downstairs. “Hey, I heard yelling. What’s going on down here?”

“Ava’s grown some balls,” Ruby said.

Ava shot the other girl a heated look. Then she turned to Jake. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

Jake crunched in his empty can and threw it into the trash. “Whatever.” He brushed past everyone and headed out to the pool. Dean figured he was going to the basketball court.

Gordon got up. “I’m going to go talk to him. Are you coming?” He asked Dean.

Dean looked at Sammy, who was staring at Ava with concern. “I’ll be out in a little bit.” Gordon’s eyebrows came together in a glower, but he walked away without saying anything else.

Sam moved from his spot near the steps and walked over to Ava. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

She raised her hand to her mouth and covered a sob. Dean watched as she choked back tears. “I didn’t mean,” she started then stopped and scrubbed her face with her palm. “He was just getting on my nerves. Everything’s been getting on my nerves lately.”

“You’re not the only one,” Sam comforted. “It’s hard living in such close quarters with such different people.”

Ruby’s chair screeched as she pushed it out from the table. “God, you guys are ridiculous. This is a competition. It’s okay if you don’t get along with everyone.”         




“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we need to be at each other’s throats,” Dean snapped back.

“Hey, it’s no skin off my back if you guys are fighting. Maybe it will give me an edge.”

Dean shook his head in disgusted. Ruby wasn’t a bitch in the same way Meg had been, but she held her own special place in the hall of bitchiness. “Yeah, well some people care about others.”

“Hey, I care,” she retorted back. “But I care about the people who matter.”

_And who are those? _Dean thought. _People who can get you to the top?_ “Yeah, you’re Mother Teresa.” 

She opened her mouth to snarl back, but Sam said, “Enough, guys.” Surprisingly, she listened. He turned his attention back to Ava. “I think you should call your fiancé and see if he’ll spend the day with you. Get out of the house for a bit.” Ava nodded and rubbed at her wet eyes.

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Yeah, run away. That will solve everything.”

Sam flashed her a look that screamed, ‘_Shut Up!’ _She huffed but said, “Fine. I’m going to my room and surfing the web.”  They all watched as she disappeared upstairs.

“Why don’t you go call him now,” Sam suggested quietly.

Ava bit her lip and nodded. “All right.” She pulled out from Sam’s grip and wandered over to the phone in the living room. The brothers watched as she pressed the receiver to her ear and dialed.

“Let’s give her some privacy,” Sam told Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean replied. They slid down to the other end of the long table, each taking a chair on opposite sides. Dean looked at Sam’s pensive face and got up again to pour his brother a cup of coffee. He couldn’t help thinking, _It’s sure going to be a fun day._

~//~

Since Friday had seen the American Idol contestants acting like jealous teenagers in a dramatic television show, Dean hoped that Saturday would start off better. It didn’t. Everyone was still as tense and snappish as the day before. By ten a.m. the house was empty of everyone but him. He let Sam take the Impala, after very, very strict instructions on how to treat her during his visit to the mall with Ruby and Jo. Dean didn’t feel like dealing with the crowds, so he’d opted to stay home.

Though he’d never admit it, the huge mansion was creepy when he was alone. He sat in the bedroom, Sam’s laptop open on the desk before him, deciding whether he wanted visit BustyAsianBeauties.com or PornTube to see what was new. He was moving his finger over the touchpad, bringing the cursor to the address bar, when his cell phone went off in his pocket. He didn’t jump at the noise. He really didn’t.

He glanced at the caller ID and answered, “Hey Bobby.”

“How ya doing, Dean?” Bobby’s voice sent a wave of longing through the Winchester. It had been a long time since he’d last seen the man.

“I’m okay. How ‘bout yourself?”

“Not bad, been better though. Would like to see ya.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “I know Bobby. I’m sorry we’ve been away for so long.”

“Been busy singing to America,” Bobby said mockingly.

“You ah, heard about that?”

“Yeah. Imagine my surprise as I stood in line at the gas station and spotted your mug on the cover of some trash magazine.” Bobby paused. “Hell Dean, why didn’t you and Sam tell me you were trying out for that show?”

Dean sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I figured you wouldn’t be interested.” _Or you’d laugh your ass off. _

“Dean you know I support you and Sam in anything you do.” Something lodged in Dean’s throat. Sometimes, Dean forgot how much Bobby loved him. “You boys want me to come out there and sit in the audience?” Dean swallowed down the lump.

“How about you come when Sammy and I are in the finals?” Dean said. Despite the fact Bobby had asked, Dean knew he’d hate every second of sitting in the large crowd of screaming girls. Dean would never ask the man to go through that more than once.

“I’ll be there.”

“Thanks Bobby, that means a lot.” _More than you’ll ever know. _

“Take care, boy, and let your brother know I called.”

“Will do. Take care, Bobby.” And, just like that, the call ended, and Dean felt lighter than he had in days.

_I’ll take Bobby Singer over Angus Young any day._

~//~

Maybe it was the weekend apart, or the fact that everyone was focused on their songs again, but when Monday rolled around everyone was civil to each other again.

“Take my tears and that's not nearly all! Oh...tainted love, Tainted love.” Dean sang. _Something’s missing, _he thought. He looked around the bathroom and grinned when he saw the perfect item. His hand snapped out and grabbed the toothbrush. It twirled twice between his fingers before settling upside down near his mouth. “Now I know I’ve got to run a-way. I’ve got to get a-way…”

“I can’t believe you’re singing in a towel in front of the mirror. Can you be any vainer?” Sam asked as he barged in. He rolled his eyes at Dean’s ‘_screw you_’ expression then exclaimed, “Hey! That’s my toothbrush.” He snatched it out of Dean’s hand and ran the bristles under the cold water tap. Dean frowned at him as he squirted on some Crest and brushed his teeth.

“I was using that as my mic.”

“Yeah well, I’m using it as my toothbrush,” Sam mocked back, mouth full of blue paste.

Dean pouted, but when it became clear Sam was ignoring him, he turned his attention back to his reflection. He squeezed a dollop of hair gel from the half-full tube and spread it across his hands before running them through his hair. “Dude, my song is awesome.”

Sam leaned across the sink and spat. “Your song is cliché.” He rinsed off his brush and filled one of the tiny plastic cups with water to rinse out his mouth.

Dean nudged him away from the sink to run his hands under the water. “Sam, our theme this week is One Hit Wonders, all the songs are cliché.”

“My song isn’t cliché,” Sam defended. He reached across Dean for the hairbrush.

Dean thought about Sam’s song while checking patting his stomach. He frowned at the little pudge that hadn’t been there six weeks ago. He needed to go running with Jake, starting tomorrow. All this good food and the buffets were adding up. “Okay, I admit your song isn’t bad.” Sam nodded like Dean had just agreed to going to Wendy’s instead of Arby’s. “Now you admit my song isn’t bad.”

“I never said _Tainted Love_ was bad. I said it was cliché.”

Dean snorted in disbelief. “I know what you meant.”

Sam huffed. “Fine, your song is amazing, and wonderful and lyrical perfection.”

Dean smiled. “I know.”

~//~

 

Dean watched as Sam rocked out his performance. His brother was dressed in a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a light gray t-shirt that had a bird of some sort flying in the upper right hand shoulder. In Dean’s opinion it was a douchey shirt, but Sam had worn it despite Dean’s misgivings. The spotlights were tinted in shades of blue, and they flickered in swirling patterns across the stage.

_“Wake up kids we've got the dreamers disease. Age 14, we got you down on your knees. So polite, you're busy still saying pleaseee.” _Sam belted it out. The crowd seemed intent on singing along, and Sam just ate it up. He walked the edge of the stage waving his arms in exaggerated clapping motions. Soon the audience was clapping to the beat of _You Get What You Give_. “_Fri - enemies, who when you're down ain't your friend. Every night we smash their Mercedes – Benz. First we run and then we laugh till we cry. But when the night is falling and you cannot find the light. If you feel your dream is dying-- Hold tight_!!!” Sam brought the microphone close to his mouth and closed his eyes as his pitch rose. “_You've got the music in you. Don't let go, you've got the music in you. One dance left, this world is gonna pull through. Don't give up. You've got a reason to live. Can't forget you only get what you give.”_

Dean found himself bobbing his head to the beat of the song. _Awesome, Sammy._ Soon the song was over, and his brother was standing in front of the judges, awaiting their approval.

“You’re a steady performer, Sam,” Kara said. “While you aren’t as exciting as some of the others on this show, you always are on pitch, and always deliver a good performance. I say good job, and, for next time, try to shake things up a bit.”

The camera panned to Randy. “You know, I agree with Kara on this, dawg. You’re a good performer, but is good really what we’re after?” The crowded booed. Dean joined them. “I was entertained tonight, but not blown away.”

Sam nodded, and Dean noticed the way his Adam’s apple stuck out. Dean wanted to march on stage and punch Randy Jackson in his stupid face.

“Sam, tonight’s performance was wonderful. I think you chose a perfect song for your vocal range. You are a charming man, and a talented singer. Keep up the good work.” Sam smiled and mouthed thank-you to Paula. Dean had always liked her best anyways.

Simon went last. His arms were crossed as he leaned closer to his microphone. “You know Sam, I agree with what Kara and Randy said. You’re a good performer, not a great one.” The level of booing became deafening. Simon turned to the crowd and said, “I’m only telling the truth.” Then he turned back to Sam. “I hope you prove me different.”

Seacrest did his spiel about voting, and guided Sam off stage. Dean was there the instant his brother entered the contestant waiting room. “You were awesome, man, just awesome.”

Sam brushed by him. “I don’t want to talk about it, Dean.” He settled himself on the couch next to Jake. Dean took the other side.

“Ignore what they say. They don’t matter anyway. It’s the fans that matter. America. And America loves you, Sam.” Dean didn’t blame them. _What’s not to love about Sam? _

“Dean?” Jeanette, a P.A., called out. “You’re up. Let’s go.” 

He ignored her for a second and gripped Sam’s shoulders. “Ignore them, Sammy. Listen to me.”

“What makes you so wise?” Sam asked cynically.

Dean grinned. “I’m older.” Sam snorted.

“Dean, let’s go! Now!” Jeanette shouted again.

“I’ll be back.” He ruffled Sam’s hair and jogged out of the lounge.

He walked on stage left just as the ‘returning from commercials’ cue played overhead. He stood next to Seacrest. The man leaned in and said, “Cutting it kinda close.”

“Yeah, well I’m here, aren’t I?” Dean retorted.

Seacrest scowled, they went live, and a happy-go-lucky grin snapped into place on the host’s face. “We’re back with our last performance of the evening. Here’s Dean Winchester singing _Tainted Love.” _

Dean sauntered to the mic and gripped the stand between his hands. He placed the pole between his spread legs, and grinned at the audience. Girls screamed. “_Sometimes I feel I've got to, run away; I've got to, get away. From the pain that you drive into the heart of me. The love we share, seems to go nowhere, and I've lost my light; For I toss and turn, I can't sleep at night!”_

He popped the microphone from the stand and strode to the edge of the stage. As he sang he slowly walked the curved border of the theater. “_Once I ran to you. Now I'll run from you . This tainted love you've given. I give you all a boy could give you; take my tears and that's not nearly all! Oh...tainted love. Tainted love. Now I know I've got to, run away. I've got to get away. You don't really want IT any more from me. To make things right; You need someone to hold you tight. And you'll think love is to pray, but I'm sorry I don't pray that way_.” He head-banged.

The audience joined in for the chorus, and then Dean sang the rest of the song. “_Don't touch me please. I cannot stand the way you tease. I love you though you hurt me so. Now I'm going to pack my things and go! Tainted love, tainted love. Touch me baby, tainted love. Tainted love_!!”

His breaths came in harsh pants as he lowered the mic. His shirt was damp with sweat, and the crowd was cheering. Seacrest came over and said something Dean couldn’t hear because his pulse was beating too loud. Still out of breath, he was steered to the end of the stage for the judges’ comments.

Simon went first. “Dean, I’m sorry to say I didn’t love it. That song is bit to clichéd. We’ve seen better performances from you.”

“Dean, you look smoking up there. How you make a black t-shirt and jeans sexy I don’t know, but your style is distinctive. I do agree you could have picked a better song, but your performance was rocking,” Paula said with a shake of her fist.

Kara said, “I agree with Simon and Paula, you could have chosen a better song. Overall though, good performance.” 

“Yo, my man, this wasn’t it for me, man. I think you could have done better. I hope to see something stellar from you next week.”

The crowd booed fanatically, and Dean nodded. Seacrest came up to him with the microphone and asked, “Do you have anything to say to that tonight, Dean?”

Dean licked his lips then nodded. He brought his mic to his lips and said, “I respect your opinions, but what you said about my brother is crap. Sammy had the best performance tonight. He rocked out the house.” 

It took the crowd a second to take in his words, but then everyone seemed to jump up and start screaming. The judges blinked at him, and Seacrest gave him a sideways look. Dean thought Simon wanted to talk, but he couldn’t have made himself heard over the crowd if his life depended on it. Seacrest tried to talk over the screaming fans to inform everyone about how to vote for him.

Dean just smiled through it all and thought, _Damn, those fans sure love Sammy. _It didn’t occur to him they might be cheering for him. After all, Sammy’s performance had rocked.  


	11. The Top 7

_Our contestants are feeling the heat as they come closer and closer to the finals. Who will break under the pressure? Who will rise? Only time will tell. _

~//~**__**

**   
**

After the general consensus (by the judges man, by the judges.) that tonight’s performances were ‘the worst we’ve seen so far,’ the American Idol contestants needed to decompress. Bela wanted to go to some high profile club named Prey, but she was vetoed by pretty much everyone. Instead, they piled into three taxis and drove around until they spotted something remote that advertised cheap alcohol.

They ended up in a small bar named Pucker’s. The building was at the end of a strip mall, about two miles south of the four-o-five off exit thirty-one. A pair of red puckered lips glowed above the bar’s battered-looking entrance. The parking lot was littered with broken beer bottles, cigarette stubs, and fast food wrappers.

Dean hopped out of the cab first. “Watch the glass,” he told Ava as she scooted across the rear bench.

Sam pulled thirty dollars from his pocket and handed the man the bills. “Keep the change.”

The cabbie nodded and asked, “You want me to come back later?” His African accent was thick, and Dean barely understood a word he was saying.

“No, I’m not sure what our plans are,” Sam replied. “We’ll call the cab company when we decide to leave.” The door to the second cab clunked shut. Jo, Ruby and Bela walked towards them. Dean squinted when the headlights from the third cab flashed across his face as it turned into the parking lot.

The door to the bar opened, and two men staggered out. Dean checked his watch. _Damn, drunk, and it’s only eleven-ten. _One of them tugged a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. The yellow flame from his lighter and the orange glow of the lit cigarette blazed bright in the cloudy L.A. night. He handed his friend the pack and lighter.

“The street light’s busted,” Jo stated. Dean nodded. It was, so was the pair of hanging lights on the front of the bar. The red wire lips were bright enough to cast a five foot circle of ruby light along the door and ground. The rest of the strip mall was shut down for the evening. Everything seemed dark and dead. 

“Are you sure this place is safe?” Ava asked while pulling her jean jacket shut.

Dean threw his arm around her and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from any hunting monsters.”

Ruby snorted and shuffled from foot to foot.

“What?” he asked.

“You’ll be too busy sticking your tongue down the first attractive girl’s throat to notice anything else.” Gordon and Jake got out of the last cab and walked over.

“Hey!” Dean put his hand over his heart, fainting hurt. “I resent that.” He looked down at Ava. “I’m a multitasker. I can protect you and have my tongue down a girl’s throat at the same time.”

Ava rolled her eyes and pulled out from under his arm. “I think I’ll hang out with Ruby and Jo. Maybe they’ll show me some karate moves or something.”

Dean shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

As a group, they wandered past the two smoking men and into the bar. Beyond the first door was a small entranceway with a tiny waist-high desk and stool manned by a three hundred pound bouncer. He eyed the group warily and said, “Five bucks for cover if you’re over twenty-one. Eight if you’re under. We check I.D.s.”

Dean gave his brother a pouty glance. Sam sighed but dished out ten dollars. They flashed their driver’s licenses to the big guy and got neon-yellow wrist bands. Then they made their way past the bouncer and through the second set of doors, into the bar. Dean bumped Sammy’s shoulder on the way in and said, “Dude, the bouncer was giving you the eye. You should have flashed a little skin and gotten us in for free.”

Sam scrunched up his nose and pushed Dean away. “Let’s find a place to sit,” he said.

Dean scanned the room. The place was larger on the inside than the outside had led him to believe. It could easily hold three hundred people. However, it wasn’t crowded. A group of blue-collared, middle-aged men sat near the one big screen television near the far right wall. There were two bars; one was directly across from the entrance, and the other was about thirty feet to the left. The bar to the left was closed, but the bar ahead housed two bartenders, one a cute thirty-something punkish blonde woman, and the other a fit, mid-twenties guy. Of the fifteen or so stools tucked around the edge of the bar, only six of them were in use.

“There’s a large table over there,” Gordon said. Dean followed his finger to see the large wooden table and the eight empty chairs around it.

“Awesome,” Dean stated. He let Gordon lead the way, and soon everyone had settled into their seats.

“This place isn’t so bad on the inside,” Ava said.

Bela gave her a disbelieving glance. “If there was any more smoke in the air this would be laser tag, and look at those men over there.” She eyed the four gray-haired men sitting two tables over. “They just scream ‘recently released from prison.’”

Dean took another look at them.  “They’re just four old men having a drink.”

“Look at that one. He had a handle-bar mustache,” Bela said with a shudder. 

“You are a judgmental cunt,” Dean replied.

She frowned and unzipped her leather jacket. “Don’t be jealous, just because I was raised on the higher end of society, Dean.” She smiled, putting Dean in mind of a great white shark.

“Bela,” Dean began, but stopped when Sam laid a hand on his arm. His brother’s look screamed, _don’t. _So Dean mouthed back, ‘fine,’ and finished his sentence with, “let’s just drink and have a nice evening, alright? No arguing about lifestyle comparisons.”

Her lips bent in a wry grin. “Alright Dean, one non-argumentative evening, coming up.”

“Great,” Ruby said. “Now that you ladies are done bitch fighting, can we get something to drink?”

“Good idea,” Jo added.

Jake looked up from the paper specialty menu. “You’re not old enough to drink.”  




“My mom owns a bar. I’ve been drinking since I was sixteen.”

Jake scowled. “Well I’m not buying you alcohol.”

She clicked her tongue at him. “I wouldn’t dream of letting you.”

_We really need to start drinking before someone tears someone else’s head off, _Dean thought. Luckily, the female bartender made herself known by coming up to the table and asking, “What do you want to drink?” Dean noticed she had a little star tattoo on the upper curve of her left breast. _Hot. _ 

“I’ll have a Heineken,” Gordon ordered.

“A Miller Light for me please,” said Ava.

“What do you have on draft?” Sam asked. She shot off their drinks.

"Have any specials tonight, Beautiful?"

She huffed, like she had heard that endearment one time too many, and replied, “Purple nurple’s. They’re seven bucks a shot, and completely worth every penny.”

“Do I even want to know what’s in them?”

She laughed, “Probably not.”

“Two purple nurples then.”

“Sure thing.” She went back over everyone else’s orders then wandered back to the bar. 

As they waited for their drinks, they talked about mundane things. Favorite movies, classic books, hot cars- basically anything but singing and American Idol. Dean glanced over to the bar and saw the blonde struggling with their drinks. He slid from his chair and walked over to help.

“Here, let me take that.” He grabbed one of his shots off the counter and downed it. “Damn, those are good.” He took the other one too. Then he picked up Sammy and Gordon’s beers in one hand and Jo’s in the other. “You’ve got the rest?” Dean nodded to the drinks already in the blonde bartender’s hands.

She nodded. “Thanks.” They walked back to the table and handed out the drinks. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Dean.”

She stuck out her hand and said, “Well thanks again Dean. I’m Katy.” She nodded back towards the bar. “How ‘bout since you helped me, and your shots are gone, I’ll make you something else.”

“Sounds awesome.” He slapped Sam on the shoulder to let him know he was getting up, and followed Katy back to the bar. Rambunctious laughter caught his attention for a moment as a group of co-ed late-twenty-somethings came through the door. When he turned back to Katy she was already behind the counter.

She leaned forward, giving him a bird’s eye view of her ample cleavage and said, “So, you want something sweet?”

Dean smiled and leaned against his side of the counter. “I’d love something sweet,” he replied, looking into her eyes. They were bright green. Too green to be anything but contacts.

“One screaming orgasm on the way.” She reached down and pulled out a bottle of vodka.

“A screaming orgasm huh? I always thought those were more milky than sweet.”

“Well, if you do it right, they’ll end up milky at the end,” she flirted.

He took a sip. “Not bad, but I like the purple nurples better.”  




She nodded. “Yeah, most people do.” Another guy came up to the bar and ordered a beer. Katy held up a finger to Dean, implying she’d be back in a minute. Dean waited.

“So, not to be cliché or anything, but have I seen you before? You look awful familiar,” Katy asked.

Dean laughed then reached forward and brushed his knuckles against hers. “Katy, if we’d met before, you wouldn’t have forgotten.”

She snorted, “Damn, you are a cheese ball.”

He raised his hands and shrugged. “Hey, I only tell the truth. I can’t help it if other guys use my lines and have nothing to back it up.”  Dean finished off his drink then said, “Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Katy lifted one of her thin eyebrows. Dean smiled and ran his pointer finger along the edge of her shirt, near her tattoo. Her skin was soft and warm beneath his finger.  “What’s the significance of the star?”

“What makes you think there’s any significance?”

“Well, most people get tattoos for one of two reasons. One, they were drunk and thought it’d look awesome. And two, they wanted something meaningful displayed forever on their body.” Dean pulled down the neck of his shirt to show her his tattoo. “Now mine, is meaningful. Me and my brother,” he used his shoulder to indicate Sammy at the table. “Got matching ones on his eighteenth birthday. They represent freedom from the devil and protection from demons.” He lets his shirt slide back up. “And you don’t seem like the drunken, let’s do something crazy type.”

Okay, so Dean might be stretching things a bit, but he often prided himself on reading people. While Katy did seem the crazy type, she also seemed the artsy, meaningful type. Her lips quirked up in a smile, and she said, “You’re right. This,” she pointed to the tattoo on the downward slant of her breast, “I got when I moved to L.A. I wanted to be a famous actress, and the star represented my hopes and dreams.” Her eyes went dark for a moment, but then she continued. “Now, a pair of fake breasts, seven tattoos, and ten years later I’m working as a bartender at this dive, serving middle-aged men who like to ogle my ten thousand dollar purchase.” She motioned to her chest.

“Well, they are very nice.” Dean made sure to look into her eyes as he spoke. He knew his way around women.

She laughed. “Yeah, they are.”

Dean ran his fingers along the sticky counter. “So, when do you have a break?”

“Boy, you sure persistent.”

“I can’t help it. I go for it when I see a pretty lady.”

She snorted. “Not to mention you’re what, twenty-four, twenty-five?” He nodded. “So you’re a perpetual horn-dog.” She paused, like she’d thought of something important. “Though, I do suppose you’re awful pretty.”

“Handsome. The word is handsome.”

She ran her finger along his thumb. "I say pretty."

_Whatever you want, _he thought. It had been too damn long since he’d gotten laid. At least four months, since this whole American Idol thing began. _American Idol. _The idea popped into his head. It had been his goal to forget the whole thing tonight, and just pretend to be a normal guy out with his friends. So far he’d been successful. But now, with this hot chick almost to the point he wants her, Dean was willing to use whatever was in his arsenal. “I think I know where you’ve seen me from.”

The words surprised her, and she pulled away from him. Her eyes narrowed, and tiny frown lines appeared between her eyes, pyramiding up her forehead.  “Yeah?”

“I’m a contestant on American Idol.”

Light laughter cascaded over his skin. “You are not.”

He laid his palms flat against the bar, and said. “I swear.” She blinked, and he could tell she still didn’t believe him. He stuck out his hand again. “Katy, I’m Dean Winchester, one of the eight remaining contestants on American Idol. About two hours ago I sang _Tainted Love_ on stage in front of hundreds of live audience members and millions of viewers.” He motioned to the table. “Those guys over there are my fellow contestants. The big one is my little brother, Sam.”

Her mouth parted. “You’re telling the truth.”  Dean smiled, and her mouth went from shocked to seductive. “You can sing. That’s hot.” Words said, she leaned forward and pressed her full lips against his. At kisses go, it wasn’t the most intense Dean had ever had, but still, lust tingled his mouth and danced down his spine. She pulled back, just enough that their lips weren’t touching anymore and said, “I have a break in fifteen minutes. We can go to the women’s bathroom.” Her breath curled around his mouth. Cherry lip gloss stuck to his lips, and Dean snuck out his tongue to soak up the taste.

“Sounds good,” he said hoarsely. She flashed him a smile and scuttled down to the other end of the bar, where a few patrons were holding out money, calling for drinks.

Dean wandered back to the table. The other bartender must have come by, because there were second, and some third sets of glasses and beer bottles littering the table. Ava was saying something about a dog, an apartment and a baseball, but Dean couldn’t understand most of it. _She’s a complete lightweight, _he thought, unsurprised. He sat in the empty seat beside Sammy and grinned at the relaxed state of his company.

“You are unbelievable,” Sam commented while taking a sip of his beer.

“What?” Dean said defensively.

“Within thirty minutes you already have sweet-talked the bartender into sleeping with you.”

“Hey how do you know that? We could have just flirted.” Sam stared. “Okay, so we’re hooking up in the bathroom in fifteen minutes. I could ask if she has a friend for you.”

Sam shook his head. “No thanks.”

“Your loss.” A curt snort sliced across the table. “Do you have something to say Bela?” Dean asked.

“Just that your whorish ways are unsurprising.”

Dean grinned. “Aww, I’m sorry. Are you jealous I’ll be giving Katy the ride of her dreams, and you’re stuck here being the frigid bitch you are? Don’t worry, when I’m done I’ll tell you about it. Give you something to fuel your fantasies.” Anger flickered across her eyes and Dean smirked. _One point to me. _     

Bela opened her mouth to retort back, but Dean turned his head to talk to Sam. “Glad we came out?”

“Yeah. I think I- we all-  needed this. Some time without the pressures of voting and singing and the press.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve hung out like this. Cruising a bar, picking up chicks. I miss it.”

“Yeah.”

They spent the next fifteen minutes sharing old bar stories, mostly from Stanford, with the rest of the group. When Sam recounted the story of what had sparked the idea to try out for American Idol, Jo nearly fell off her seat laughing. Even Gordon cracked a grin and rolled his eyes.

A whistle followed by his name caught Dean’s attention. He twisted around and saw Katy waiting for him near the bar. He gave a quick _“_Adios_,” _to the group and a wink to Sammy, and strutted over to the bartender. Once close enough, he reached out and dragged his fingers along her waist. “Lead the way,” he whispered.

She wove them through the tables, past the college aged co-eds and down a dark hallway to wooden door marked ‘Women’s’ with red paint. She gripped the round handle, twisted the door open, and dragged him inside. The click of the lock sliding shut was loud in the tiny stall. The smell of cheap perfume and piss assaulted his nose, and Dean winced at the smell. _Perfect for sex, _he thought sarcastically. But then the door slammed shut and he was being shoved against its solid mass. Katy smashed her lips to his, and the nasty smells of single stall bathroom melted away.

“You are so hot,” she murmured into his mouth. He grinned and dipped his head until his lips met the arch of her neck.

As he tasted the sweat and coconut lotion on her skin and pressed his arousal into her, Dean noticed the music playing for the first time that night. _Straight Up _filtered through the speakers in Paula Abdul’s sweet, high pitched voice. 

~//~

They fucked twice in the tiny bathroom stall. Five people had come to the door and knocked annoyingly, wanting to get in. Dean ignored them and hitched Katy higher around his waist as he covered her gasps with his mouth. When they were finished, they both fixed their clothes in the dim light and checked their appearances in the mirror hanging above the sink. Dean took down Katy’s number on the back of the condom wrapper, using the black sharpie she carried in her back pocket. He promised to call. Then, high on endorphins, he leisurely walked back to the table.  

“Dude, you were gone for forty-five minutes,” Sammy whined as soon as Dean took his seat.

Dean checked his watch. _Damn, I was. _

“We were going to come save you, but Sam figured you wouldn’t appreciate that,” Jo joked. Her cheeks were flushed red from alcohol, and her body was more relaxed then Dean had ever seen it, but otherwise, she appeared the most sober girl at the table. Ava looked ready to pass out; she was laying her head over her crossed arms against the table. _Dude, I was only gone forty-five minutes. What did she drink? _Bela was sipping on some pink, fruity looking drink, and had a smile on her face. Dean knew she had to be drunk. Ruby was munching on fries slathered in ketchup.

“They serve food here?” Dean asked.

“No, we’re ready to go. I’ve paid our tab, and Gordon’s already called the cabs to come pick us up. You’ll eat something when we get home.”

“Alright.” Food would be good, and he was hungry, but he’d just had awesome sex, so he couldn’t complain.

“Everyone ready to leave?” Sam directed the question across the table. There were a wash of yes's. Coats were slid back on, and Ruby licked the last bit of grease from her fingers. She wobbled as she stood.

“I think I may need some help walking,” she said conversationally.

Gordon shook his head no. Jake looped his arm around Ava’s back and looked at Sam and Dean imploringly. Dean didn’t want that duty, so he glanced at Sammy.

Sam sighed. “Fine, I’ll do it.” He walked around the table and tucked his arm though hers.

“Thanks Sam,” Ruby hiccupped out. As a group they headed for the door. Dean waved and winked at Katy. She gave him a knowing smile.

_This has been an excellent night, _Dean reflected. Then he stepped outside and was blinded by flashing lights. He ducked his head and muttered, “What the hell?”

“Fuck. Paparazzi,” Gordon snarled.

There seemed to be hundreds of them. The parking lot was packed with dozens of cars and news vans. There were men, and a few women, with expensive cameras spread out in waves across the lot. Flash after flash snapped like lightening across area. 

“What?” Sam said beside him.

“Sam Winchester, what do you have to say about your brother’s defense of your performance?” This question was shouted by the man a few feet ahead.

“I uh, appreciate it.” Sam answered uncertainly.

“Ava, where’s your fiancé? Does he approve of your drinking?”

Ava squinted and looked for the man who asked the question. She appeared ready to cry.

“Gordon, is it true you were once arrested for battery of your sister?” A camera was shoved in Gordon’s face.

“No,” he growled out. “Get away from me.”  That seemed to spur them on, and the wave of faceless people and their flashing cameras shifted closer.

Sam bent his head and whispered to Dean, “The cabs are over there, past the crowd on the left.”  

“Let’s keep walking,” Dean replied. He looked over his shoulder to make sure Jo was okay then pressed forward. The paparazzi reluctantly parted, giving them just enough space to walk though without actually touching them.

 “Is Ruby the American Idol contestant you’re dating?” Someone asked Sam.

 He didn’t answer. They all kept walking.

 “Is it true your Dad murdered your mother and killed himself afterwards?” A small recorder was shoved under Dean’s nose. The question stopped Dean cold.

 “No. I don’t know where you’re getting your information, buddy, but you need to check your sources,” Dean growled out.

 Another voice asked, “But it is true your mother is dead?”

 Dean frowned. “Yes.” Anger bubbled beneath his skin. He felt a hand wrap around his shoulder, and he spun around. It was only Sam.

 “What about your Dad? Is he dead as well?”           

 If Dean knew which person had asked the question, he would have punched them in the face. He bit his lip to keep from responding with some choice curse words.

 “Is it true your Dad was abusive?”

 _Okay, that it. _

 “No comment,” Sam barked. Then they were at the cab. Sam helped Ruby inside, and shouted. “Dean get in the car.” Dean almost didn’t listen. He felt like throwing himself into the paparazzi and starting a fight. But then Sammy’s hand was at his shoulder again, and he let himself be pushed inside.

Sam slammed the door shut and gave the address to the cab driver. The man looked at the crowd worriedly and said, “What about them?”

“If you get us home in the next twenty minutes I’ll double your fare,” Sam responded.

The guy gunned it. Like a cat being attacked by water, the paparazzi jumped away from the car. As they pulled out of the parking lot, one of the other cabs passed them by. Dean saw Gordon’s face scowling out the window, and Ava’s head rolling around on Jake’s shoulder. Dean looked around for the last cab.

"It’s okay; Bela and Jo’s cab left first.”

 Dean nodded. His heartbeat roared in his ears, and his chest heaved. Ruby groaned and drooped onto Sam’s shoulder. He hoped, for both Sam and his sake that the girl didn’t puke.

 “Motherfucking paparazzi.”

 “People are going to find out,” Sam said morosely. 

 “Not if we don’t tell them,” Dean bit back.

“People are interested in us, Dean. They want to know about our lives. Dad is part of our lives.”  




Dean dug his fingers into his jeans. _Dad is off limits._ “People can speculate all they want about us, but if we don’t tell them the truth, nobody will know anything for certain.”

Sam pressed his lips together, like he was holding back words. He turned his head away. Dad was something they didn’t talk about. Dad was the past, and they were the future. End of story.

~//~

The next day Ava was voted off. She burst into tears on stage, and the moment the cameras went off, her fiancé pounded up the steps and she threw herself into his arms. Jake looked flabbergasted, like he couldn’t believe Ava had been voted off instead of him. They said their goodbyes; Ava hugged every single one of them and wished them good luck. The house seemed strange without her laughter.

The American Idol camera crews were filming in the house more than usual this week, so everyone was even more on their guard. Practices were tense and uncomfortable; despite the fact the upcoming show was Disco Week. Dean wanted to throw insults towards the show’s producers, making fun of their themed choices, but just didn’t feel up to it. Instead, he went running with Jake every morning, and spent the better part of each day shooting hoops with Gordon, bowling with Jo, and avoiding Bela and Ruby.

On Sunday they shot a commercial for the Ford Taurus. It involved take after take of driving the car a hundred feet and grinning out the window. Dean found the whole experience boring. His Impala was on a whole other level. The Taurus didn’t even compare.

Then it was Tuesday again and time to perform. The crowd seemed crazier than normal; Dean swore there were more ‘♥ MARRY ME DEAN WINCHESTER ♥’ signs than usual.  Gordon was first up this week. He started off strong with a powerful rendition of _Turn the Beat Around. _Unfortunately for Jake, his vocals on _Celebration _were shaky, and the judges tore him apart when he was finished. Bela sang a surprisingly good version of _Heart of Glass, _and Ruby rocked the house with _Fame. _Sam chose to do a sweet melody with _If I Can’t Have You _and the audience just melted into his voice. He paused mid-way through the song and ran a hand through his hair. Paula clutched at her heart. True story.

Then Dean went on. _Can’t go wrong with Earth, Wind and Fire, _Dean thought as Ryan introduced him and his song. “_Do you remember, the 21st night of September_?” Dean smiled to the crowd and the cameras. “_Love was changing the mind of pretenders, while chasing the clouds away_.”   He raised his arms and did a slow turn. “_Our hearts were ringing. In the key that our souls were sing-ing. As we danced in the night, remember - how the stars stole the night away. Yeah, yeah, yeah_.” He weaved forward, snapping his fingers with the beat. “_Hey, hey, hey. Ba de ya - say do you remember. Ba de ya - dancing in September. Ba de ya - never was a cloudy d-ay.” _His feet shuffled to the left, and he did another full body twist.

“_Ba duda, ba duda, ba duda, badu. Ba duda, badu, ba duda, badu. Ba duda, badu, ba duda!”_ He nodded his head with the words, grinning all the while.  “_My thoughts are with you.  
Holding hands with your heart to see you. Only blue talk and love. remember - how we knew love was here to stay. Now December, found the love that we shared in September. Only blue talk and love, remember - the true love we share tod-ay_.”

For the next part he used the microphone like a conductor’s stick and held it out the audience so they could sing along. “_Hey, hey, hey!”_  Then he brought it back to his mouth. “_Ba de ya - say do you remember. Ba de ya - dancing in September. Ba de ya - never was a cloudy day.......there was a. Ba de ya - say do you remember. Ba de ya - dancing in September. Ba de ya - golden dreams were shiny days.”_ He a little sidestep maneuver that the audience cheered for. “_Now our bell was ringing, aha! Our souls were singing. Do you remember every cloudy day - yau ! There was a… Ba de ya - say do you remember. Ba de ya - dancing in September. Ba de ya - never was a cloudy day.......there was a. Ba de ya - say do you remember. Ba de ya - dancing in September. Ba de ya - golden dreams were shiny days. Ba de ya de ya de ya. Ba de ya de ya de ya. Ba de ya de ya de ya - De ya.....”_

The upbeat music faded, as he held out the last note. Then he was finished. He took a moment to catch his breath then looked at the judges. Paula and Kara were smiling. They had been dancing during the entire length of his song. Randy’s eyes were wide through his glasses, but he looked happy enough. Simon’s shoulders were straight, but relaxed.

Dean smiled, relieved. He and Sammy were golden again.


	12. The Top 6

_Our final six are competing with their pick of love song this week. Will they choose the right song? Will they wow the audience? Let’s watch. _

~//~__

The next day Jake was voted off. He took the information stoically, gave a salute to the judges and audience members and stepped up to sing his parting song. Dean felt bad for the guy; he imagined it sucked, but, truthfully, he wasn’t that torn up about the man’s exit. Apparently, neither was Sammy.

"He was kind of annoying,” Sam admitted to Dean in the privacy of their bedroom. “He was too competitive and hard to get along with. He always liked to have things his way.”

Dean nodded and bit off the end of the burrito he had picked up on the drive home from the theater. “Yeah, he had only child syndrome,” Dean said around a mouthful of Mexican deliciousness. “Dude, you have got to try this burrito. It’s amazing.” He held it out for Sam to bite.

As Sam chewed, his eyes widen. He swallowed and licked his lips. “Not bad.”

“You want the other one?” Dean motioned to the small plastic bag that held his take-out.

Sam nodded. Dean tossed him the still-wrapped burrito. Sam tore off the paper and bit off a large chunk of the top. “So, love songs for next week.”

The mattress bounced as Dean flopped himself onto the bed. He shoved the rest of his late night snack into his mouth. “Yeah, it sucks.” _Though at least I know what love songs are, _Dean though as he remembered Big Band week.

“What can I do to make my performances more exciting?” Sammy asked while taking a seat on his own bed.

“What do you mean?” Dean responded. “Your performances are great. Those teeny-bopper girls go wild for your emo-lovefest shit. It’s your deep hazel eyes.”

Sam threw the burrito wrapper at Dean’s head. Luckily, the paper wasn’t dense enough to travel the distance between the beds, and it floated harmlessly to the floor. _Saved from the paper cuts of doom, _Dean thought cynically.

“The judges told me I’m a good performer, but that I need to shake things up. Dean, I don’t want to be known as the guy who can only do one thing.”

“Who cares if you can only do one thing, as long as you do that one thing well?”

Sam sighed and leaned back against the headboard, hands behind his head. “I want to shake things up.”

“Then do something you wouldn’t normally do.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, maybe something dark.”

A snorted drifted across the room. “A dark love song?”

“Yeah, you know - something without a sappy, lovey-dovey message.” Dean turned on his side and propped his head up on his hand and elbow. “Use what you’ve actually felt,” he said softly.

Sam stared unblinkingly at the ceiling. “You mean use Jessica’s death.”

“Sammy…” Dean paused, thinking over his words before he said them. “Sam, her death is a part of you. You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”

The words acted like a catalyst, and Sam snapped up and swung his legs off the bed. “I don’t pretend it didn’t happen. But, Dean, when I think about her, about the way she died and what happened before it, I get so angry that I can barely breathe.”

“So get angry, Sammy. It’s okay to be angry as long as you don’t let it rule your life.”

Sam pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes and said, “I just can’t, Dean.”

“Fine, then don’t. Just do what you want, Sam.” _You always have. _Sam didn’t answer, but he did get up and flip off the lights. The room went dark. Dean listened as Sam’s socked feet pattered to the bathroom. The sink was turned on, and water flowed. He heard the flushing of the toilet, and then the sheets ruffling as Sam climbed back in bed.

~//~

Sam spent the next few days in a somber mood. He didn’t want to talk, or go out to eat, or even drive around the in Impala. Dean tried to entertain him with amusing picks for his love song. Sam gave him a grin when he belted out Marvin Gaye’s _Sexual Healing _while playing Halo on the thoughtfully provided X-Box 360. But then Sam went on right on being a moody thirteen year old again.

On Sunday, Dean finally had enough. “Dude, go out and get laid or something.”

“Because getting laid is your answer to everything,” Sam snapped. He threw down the magazine he was reading on the kitchen counter.

"I said or something,” Dean retorted. _Though getting laid will release some of that pent up aggression, Sammy my boy. _

Sam narrowed his eyes and looked like he wanted to punch Dean in the face. Dean took a step back, just in case. “I’m going out.”

“Not with my car you’re not. Jo and I are driving over to Orange County. They’re having a gun show there.”

“A gun show?”

“Yeah, you know, guns.” Dean mimicked a firing gun with his thumb and pointer finger. “She read about it in the paper. They’ve got all sorts of guns. Historical stuff. Supposedly, someone has a magical colt that will always hit the target the shooter is aiming for.”

"Dean, that’s ridiculous.”

Dean shrugged. “Hey, that’s what the paper said.” 

Sam shook his head. “Fine, I’ll take a cab.”

“Did someone say cab?” Ruby asked as she came down the steps.

Sam’s mouth fell open in surprise. Dean blinked and stammered, “Your hair!”

She flipped the aforementioned hair over her shoulder. “Decided I needed something new.”

“It’s brown!” Sam said, stating the obvious.

Ruby came forward and tapped him on the chest. “Oh, you’re a smart one.”  Sam blushed. “So, you’re going out?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Can I come with? I’m feeling cooped up today. A ride out sounds good. Plus I can try out my new hair on the public.”

“You don’t even know where I’m going,” Sam said.

She shrugged and asked, “Okay, I’ll bite. Where are you going?”

Sam flashed Dean a bothered look. _Caught, _Dean thought with a smirk. He remained silent.

“I don’t know. Maybe to the movies.” 

Ruby gave Sam a sideways leer. “Sounds good. I’ll follow you, Sammy-boy.”

Dean frowned at her use of his nickname. His frown morphed into a scowl when Sam didn’t correct her. “Are you ready to go now?” Sam asked.

She nodded. “Sure thing.” She gave Dean a sideways glance and looped her arm through Sam’s. Her hand dug into her pocket, and she brought out her cell phone. “Here, call the cab.” Sam took the phone and dialed. “You sure you don’t want to come?” Her words were innocent, but Dean could tell she didn’t want him there.

_Ruby’s got a crush on Sam. _Though Dean wanted Sam to move on, find another girlfriend, the idea of Ruby as that girl didn’t sit well with Dean. Dean almost told her yes. That going to the movies sounded like a great idea. Then he noticed the lightness in Sammy’s shoulders and knew his brother wanted to go out with Ruby. He wanted to get away from Dean. A lump formed in Dean’s throat.  “No, that’s okay,” he said. “Jo and I have a date with a magical gun.”

“The cab will be here soon. They said five minutes tops,” Sam told Ruby.

She smiled. “Let’s wait outside. The weather is gorgeous. We can decide where we want to go.” 

“Sounds good.” Sam gave a half-nod in Dean’s direction. “See you later.”

“Have fun,” Dean replied. As he watched the pair walk to the front door, Dean couldn’t help feeling something wrong had just begun.

~//~

  
Dean checked his hair in the mirror one more time. Then he fiddled with the bowtie around his neck.

“Come on Dean. We need to go to the lounge. The show’s starting,” Sam said through the bathroom door.

"’ll be out in a second,” Dean shouted.

“He probably doesn’t recognize himself.” Dena heard Bela say. It was close enough to the truth that a flash of uneasy anger snapped into his chest. He turned away from his reflection and pushed out of the bathroom, and Bela’s mouth fell open.

_Damn-it, I knew I looked stupid. _“Don’t say anything.”

She swayed forward, swallowed and said, “I think we should have angry sex.”

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but stopped when he realized she was serious. He took a moment to think about it. _No fucking way. _“Don’t objectify me.” He ran his hands over the lapels of the tuxedo jacket and brushed by her. Sam was giving him an amused look. “Hey, you’re wearing a monkey suit too. So keep your trap shut.”

Sam just raised his hands. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” They walked together to the lounge.

Ruby whistled at them when they walked in. “Damn, you boys clean up nice.” Dean managed not to snap at her.

Dean took a seat beside Jo, and she went red and got this strange look on her face. “What’s wrong with you?” Dean asked.

The blonde turned her head and said, “Nothing.”

Dean was saved from worrying about the mysteries of woman when a PA came in and announced it was show time. Sammy was up first tonight. Dean stood and walked over to his brother. “You  sure you can do this?” He placed a hand on Sammy’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Besides, it’s too late now to change my song.”

Dean nodded. “Good luck.”

Sam pulled him into a hug. “Sorry I was moody this week.”

“It’s alright. You had reason to be.”

“Thanks,” Sam whispered. Dean smiled.

His brother strode out of the room, and Dean turned his attention to the large screen. The American Idol theme song whined into life and the logo flashed across the screen. Seacrest came out in a blue and gray pinstriped suit and introduced the show. He announced Sam’s name and the camera panned to Sammy’s school friends in the audience.

Sam walked on stage. _Damn, Sammy looks grown up. _Dean had only seen his brother dressed up twice before. Once was for his senior prom, and then again for his high school graduation. Dean remembered working extra hours at the garage in Columbus-where they’d been living at the time- so he could buy Sammy the suit. Sammy had looked good then, in that simple gray and white suit, but now in the expensive tuxedo provided by the show, Sam looked unbelievably mature.

The lights dimmed, and a spotlight appeared on a large, black grand piano. Sam walked over and took a seat. The string instruments on the stage hummed slowly to life. Sam’s long fingers glided over the piano keys. When the first piano note sounded into the theater, Sam closed his eyes and began to sing. 

“_The dawn is breaking, a light shining through. You’re barely waking, and tangled up with you.”_ 

_Jesus, he’s really doing it. He’s remembering. _

_“I’m open, you’re closed. Where I follow, you’ll go. I worry I won’t see your face light up again_.” Dean felt Sam’s sadness build up in his chest. Watching his brother sing was hard. _“Even the best fall down sometime. Even the wrong words seem to rhyme. Out of the doubt that fills my mind. Somehow I find, you and I collide.”   _

“Open your eyes Sammy,” Dean whispered to himself. Like he heard, Sam opened his eyes. The camera panned forward for a close up. Sam’s eyes were watery.

“_I’m quiet you know. You make a first impression. I’ve found I’m scared know I’m always on your mind.”_ The music flared in a burst of harmony, and Sam continued to sing. “_Even the best fall down sometimes. Even stars refuse to shine. Out of the back you fall in time. Somehow I find, you and I collide.”_

Dean flashed back onto Jessica’s bright smile, and the way she would make Sam laugh.

“_Don’t stop here. I’ve lost my place. I’m close behind_.”

_God Sammy. _

_“Even the best fall down sometimes. Even the wrong words seem to rhyme. Out of the doubt that fills your mind. You finally find, you and I collide. You finally find, you and I collide. You finally find, you and I co-llide.”  _

 Sam played the last notes on the piano as the accompanying musicians faded to silence. Everyone in the lounge was quiet, and the audience seemed moved by Sam’s performance. All of Sam’s friends were crying. They knew the story behind Sam’s grief.

Standing up to face the judges, Sam wiped his fingers over his face, removing any lingering wetness. Seacrest wrapped his arm around Sam’s shoulder, even though the man was at least a foot shorter than Dean’s brother, and leaned in to say something. The words were too quiet for Dean to catch, but he saw Sam nod and give a small smile. For the first time since the competition began, Dean felt a sense of gratitude towards the American Idol host.

“Sam,” Kara began, “that was the most moving performance I’ve ever witnessed on this show. I don’t know what you were thinking about as you sang, but I really felt your sorrow and love.” She looked across the stage to where Sam was sitting. Dean realized she was waiting for Sammy to answer.

The youngest Winchester bowed his head, letting his hair hide his face. _He’s going to do it, _Dean thought. _He’s going to talk about Jessica on live television. _The thought sent a wave of amazement through Dean. Sam hated to talk about Jessica- her life or her death. He hated for people to feel sorry for him.

“Early last year my girlfriend was hit by a car and killed.” He said the words still looking at the stage floor. A noticeable wave of shock rocked the crowd. “It’s been a long road dealing with her death. I’m still not over it.” He lifted his head. “I don’t know if I ever will get over it.”

“Sam, I am so sorry for your loss,” Paula said. There were tears in her eyes. “You did her proud tonight with your performance. I can tell you loved her very much.”

Sammy nodded and gave Paula a half-grin.

Even Simon looked distressed when he spoke. “I am also sorry for your loss. The death of a loved one is life changing.”

Randy didn’t speak and either did John Mayer. Maybe they’d run out of time, or maybe they had nothing to say, Dean didn’t know. The cameras panned back to Seacrest, and in a somber voice he said, “If you’d like to vote for Sam Winchester tonight, call 1-866-IDOLS-01 or text VOTE to 5701.”

There was a quick shot of the crowd, and then they went to commercial. Dean was out of the lounge, waiting by the edge of the stage for Sam. “Dean,” Sam said; there was a heartbeat, and then Dean had his arms tight around his brother.

“That was brave, Sammy,” Dean whispered while petting Sam’s hair.

“I miss her.”  Dean felt something wet dribble down the side of his face.

“I know.”

_She was so good for you._

“It’s my fault she’s gone.” Sam’s voice was rough with self-loathing.

Dean pulled back sharply. “Sam, we’ve been over this. Jessica’s death is not your fault.”

“It is Dean! It was my fault that she left our apartment so upset. It was my fault she wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Sam, Jessica was killed by a drunk driver. She was killed, because he wasn’t paying attention.” _She was killed, because she wasn’t paying attention, _Dean didn’t say aloud.

“She was killed, because I told her the truth about Dad and our upbringing, and she freaked out. She was angry, and crying and…”

“Enough Sam.” Dean cut his brother off. This endless cycle of self-blame was useless. Sam lifted his head off Dean’s shoulder and gave a curt nod. Despite Sam’s affirmation, Dean knew this wasn’t over. Sam would eat at this for years. Possibly forever. It was the way his little brother was. It was the way he was. Winchesters wore guilt like a second skin. It was in the genes.

The call went out that they were returning from the commercial break, and the PAs shouted for the contestants to return to the lounge. Bela took off to the stage. The brothers sat on the red couches and waited as the other contestants sang their songs. In spite of everyone’s rough practices and Jo’s statement, “We’re not really the most lovey-dovey group,” everyone was rocking out the performances tonight. It was going to be a tough vote.

Dean went on last. The collar of his shirt poked into the skin of his neck, and the bowtie felt like it was squeezing the life out of him. Heat from the overhead lights, the sound equipment, and the audience seeped into his jacket, making him swelter. Dean wanted nothing more than to unbutton the tuxedo jacket, toss it to the floor, and remove the close-fitting, pressed shirt below.

His entrance today was part of his performance, so he didn’t walk on stage until after Seacrest announced his name and song. _Man, these cheesy moves better work out. _Jo had suggested them. While Dean had been against ‘making an entrance’ at first, after watching a few of the past performances from other seasons, he had grown to like the idea. “A good entrance can really set the stage,” Jo had explained. Dean thought about it, and, well, it made sense.

The beginning harmony for Metallica’s _Nothing Else Matters _hummed to life_. _Dean took a deep breath and stepped down from the platform to the first step. Girls screamed. The music played and Dean walked further down the steps. Halfway, he brought the mic to his lips and sang. “_So close, no matter how far.”_  He traveled down the rest of the steps and walked slowly to the center of the stage, where a single wooden stool sat illuminated by a pale blue spotlight.

“_Couldn’t be much more from the heart. Forever trusting who we are and nothing else matters.” _Dean took a breath and licked his lips. “_Never opened myself this way. Life is ours, we live it our way. All these words I don’t just say, and nothing else matters.”_ He closed his eyes, just for a second, and then opened them again. “_Trust I seek and I find in you. Every day for us something new. Open mind for a different view, and nothing else matters.”_

He trailed his fingers around the edge of the stool as he gradually circled the chair. “_Never cared for what they do; never cared for what they know; but know.”_ He finished his circle and sat with his leg propped on the rung between the legs of the stool. “_So close, no matter how far. Couldn’t be much more from the heart. Forever trusting who we are, and nothing else matters.” _The haunting, repetitive whines of the violins and guitars took the limelight. Then Dean began again. “_Never cared for what they do. Never cared for what they know, but I know.”_

_“Never opened myself this way. Life is ours, we live it our way. All these words I don’t just say. Trust I seek and I find in you. Every day for us, something new. Open mind for a different view, and nothing else matters.”_ The song was coming to a close, so Dean pushed off with his foot against the rung and stood.

“_Never cared for what they say; never cared for the games they play; never cared for what they do; never cared for what they know, and I know. So close, no matter how far. Couldn’t be much more from the heart. Forever trusting who we are.”_

“_No, nothing else matters.” _ Dean walked up to the microphone stand and slid the head of the mic inside.

The cuffs of his sleeves stuck to his wrists like glue to paper. He’d never finished a performance feeling quite so heated. _Damn tux. _He reached forward and unbuttoned the jacket. It helped a little.

“Dean, my man. That was smoking,” Randy praised. “I dig that you and your brother dressed up for the love songs. Fantastic job.”

It went down the line, and Kara’s turn was next. “Dean, you look unbelievable. I think I can honestly speak for every female here tonight, or watching at home; thank you for wearing that outfit.” There was a cheering uproar from the audience.

Dean was glad his face was already red from the heat. He flashed Kara a smirky-grin.

“Tonight’s performance was a true testament to your talent. You are versatile, imaginative and have an unbelievable voice,” Kara finished.

Paula smiled, gracious and happy, and said, “That was wonderful Dean. I agree completely with everything these guys said,” she motions to Randy and Kara, “I just want to say you and your brother put on amazing, thoughtful performances. Tonight was definitely the night of the Winchesters.”

Dean looked at Simon. The British judge crossed his arms, leaned forward and said with a wry smirk, “Ditto.” 

The crowd exploded. Ryan did his thing, and the American Idol theme song blasted throughout the theater. Dean waved to the crowd and cameras and walked off the stage.

Gordon came up and punched him on the shoulder. Sam ambled over, past the PAs rushing to clean things up and bumped into Dean’s side. “You were good out there,” he said with a small, sad smile.

Dean’s euphoria from the show dipped. “You going to be okay?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah.” A smile stole over his face. “Tonight is the night of the Winchesters?”

Dean laughed and replied, “Paula is so hot for me, man.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam snorted.

“We so rock.” He held out his fist. Sam curled his own hand and tapped his fist against Dean’s.

“Dean!” Jeanette, the PA, shouted. “You cell’s being ringing non-stop for the last ten minutes.” She held up his phone and waved it around.

“Hold on a sec,” he said to Sam, and jogged over to get the phone. “Thanks,” he directed to the PA. He flipped open the phone to see who had been called. Eight missed calls from Bobby. No messages. His heart dropped to his chest. He dialed.

“Dean,” Bobby answered on the second ring.

“What’s up, Bobby?” Dean tried to keep the worry from his voice.

“Dean,” Bobby said, then paused, as if he was afraid to go on.

“Spit it out, Bobby.” Sam came closer, and Dean waved him away.

“Dean, your Dad’s missing.”

“What?” Heads turned in his direction. “What?” he said again, softer.

“I got a call from the institution this afternoon. He’s been missing for three days.”

“Jesus.” Dean ran a hand through his hair.

“What’s wrong, Dean?” Sammy asked.

“Thanks for letting me know, Bobby. I’ll call you back later.”

“Be careful, Dean.” Dean swallowed hard at the apprehension in Bobby’s voice.

“Bye, Bobby.” Dean hung up.

Sam’s hand grabbed his shoulder. “What’s wrong, Dean?”

Dean gave his brother a curt smile. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Sam frowned.  “Seriously, Sammy. Bobby just called and told me someone broke into his house. That’s all. Stole some of the car parts he was saving for me.” Sam didn’t seem convinced, but Dean figured other things must be on his mind, because he didn’t press the issue.

Dean felt the beat of his heart in his ears. His arms trembled, and he thought, _Fuck.  _


	13. The Top Five

_America, this has been a trying week for both our contestants and our viewers. Demons have come light in the most horrifying of ways. It is sad to know that evil lurks in the shadows of our world, and terrifying when the evil inhabits someone we know and respect. However, the show must go on, and the focus must be on the positive, not the negative. _

_This week our performers will be singing songs of hope and human goodness. Listen to them and remember the good times. This Ryan Seacrest and you’re watching American Idol. _

~//~

_The door slammed open then shut. Dean’s shoulders tensed and he turned toward the noise. “You’re back early.”  _

_“I surprised the werewolf. Took ‘em down quick.” Dad said as he shrugged out of his jacket. _

_Dean got a whiff of the gun powder, worn leather, and whiskey.  He swallowed the lump in his throat. He wanted to say something. He didn’t. Sammy did. “There’s no such thing as werewolves, Dad.” _

_Dad squinted across the dimly lit room and frowned. “Sammy, I know you don’t like this lifestyle, but why would you say something like that?” Dad’s tone teetered on the edge of exhausted frustration and wounded pride. He focused on his youngest son with an intensity that frightened Dean.  _

_“It’s Sam, Dad. Sam. I’m two months past thirteen. I’m not a baby anymore.”  Dad’s back went straight and his mouth flattened into a thin line. Dean gripped the flat edge of the round kitchen table and stood. Both Sammy and Dad spared quick glances at the noise of the moving chair, but then went back to staring each other down. This was not good.  “And I’m not making it up. You were not out chasing a werewolf or a vampire or a demon, or whatever other supernatural creature you imagined. There’s NO SUCH THING!”  _

_Sam’s words echoed throughout cheap motel room.  Dad stepped forward, his boots thumping against the short tile entranceway before ending in abrupt silence as the soles pressed into cushioned carpet. A flash of unease wiggled into Sam’s mask of righteous indignation. He had grown a foot in the past six months, and was almost as tall as Dad, but what he had in height he lacked in mass. His muscles had yet to catch up with his rapid sprout. If Dad came at him, Sam would go with one solid punch. _

_“Hey, let’s not fight,” Dean said softly. “Dad,” Dean addressed the more menacing party first. “I saved you a plate of mac-n-cheese with chicken. Why don’t you come sit down, and I’ll warm it up for you.” Dad’s glare flicked from Sam to Dean. “Sam, why don’t you go take a shower and cool off.” _

_Sam looked like he wanted to protest, but Dean sent him a pleading look. The youngest Winchester nodded and walked silently into the bathroom. The shower turned on, and Dean saw Dad relax. “Come on, sit and I’ll heat up the plate.”_

_Dad nodded and slid into one of the four rickety kitchen chairs. “Get me a glass and the bourbon too.”     _

_Dean paused from pulling out the Ceram-wrapped plate and tentatively said, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink tonight?”_

_They were the wrong words. “I’m the father, Dean. You don’t tell me what to do. Get me the damn drink.” Tension coiled around Dean’s heart and he did as he was told. Without looking at anything he placed a clean glass and the bottle of bourbon on the table and set the plate in the microwave. He watched the food cook through the window. The microwave beeped and he set the food on the table_

_Dad dug in. Dean took the opposite chair and watched as the meal quickly disappeared and the level of amber liquid in the glass dropped every few minutes. Dad soon poured himself another two fingers. When the last bits of food were licked clean from the plate, Dad finally turned his attention to Dean. “What’s wrong with your brother?”_

_Dean ignored the coils tightening inside him and replied, “Nothing Dad. He’s just worried about you.”_

_Dad made a sound that was half snort, half growl. “He should be worried about the demons that are chasing us.” Dad looked around, as if to make sure none had snuck into the room while he was eating. “They get closer all the time.” He locked eyes with his son. “They killed your mother, Dean. We can’t let them get away with that. You know that’s why we have to kill each and every one of them.”_

_Dean stood and slid the empty plate from the table. He then went to take the bottle. Dad’s hand shot out and wrapped around his wrist. A spike of pain shot up Dean’s arm before settling into an ache. He’d have a bruise in the morning. Dean set the bottle back down. Dad released his wrist and said, “I just don’t know why they chose us. I can’t figure out why they came after your mom. Why they still hunt us.”_

_Anguish clogged his throat, and Dean felt tears prick his eyes. He blinked them away. “Maybe they hunt us because we hunt them,” Dean replied. The shower turned off, and in the back of his mind Dean heard Sammy chewing him out for playing into Dad’s hallucinations. _

_“Dean.” Dad’s frustration rumbled throughout the small kitchen. “Use your brain. They hunted us long before we ever went after them.” Dad took a swig from the bottle. “You’re almost a man. It’s time you started thinking and acting like one.” _

_“Why don’t you start acting like one?” Sam’s voice cut across the room. Dean hadn’t even noticed the bathroom door opening. _

_Dad jumped up from the table, bottle still in hand, and stomped ahead. “You watch your mouth boy. If it weren’t for me you wouldn’t be alive.” _

_Sam raised his arms wide and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot. You’ve saved me from demons. Excuse me if I’m not grateful.” Sam’s voice was full of scorn. Fear wound up Dean’s spine and settled at the bottom of his throat. _

_In a movement that belied Dad’s drunken state, the bourbon was set down, and the brown shabby belt around Dad’s waist was yanked from his belt loops. Sam’s anger quickly melted into fear and he stumbled back into the door frame. Dad stalked forward, belt raised like a whip. It came down once, too far away to cause Sam any damage, and snapped across the edge of one of the beds. _

_Dean flew. Amidst one breath and the next, he was between Sam and Dad. The belt screamed through the air. The worn leather slashed across his upper arm and shoulder. The tail end caught his chin. The plate in his hand crashed to the floor. _

A crash vibrated throughout the mansion, and Dean shot awake, mind still in the dream-memory.  Sweat coated his skin like a fine mist. His head felt foggy, like he had spent the night partying too hard. His heart thumped wildly in his chest. “Sammy?” he coughed out, throat sore as if he’d been screaming. He pushed his body up, until the headboard supported his back. “Sammy?” he tried again, louder.

When his brother didn’t answer, Dean ran a hand over his face, to rub away the dream, and looked around. The curtains over the windows were still drawn, but bright sunlight snuck through the space where the two shades met. The door to the adjoining bathroom was wide open, and Dean could see Sam wasn’t inside. Shouts of anger drifted from somewhere downstairs through the slightly ajar bedroom door. Dean couldn’t make out the actual words, but the tone was unmistakable.

He swung his legs out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. The shouting went on downstairs. Dean recognized Gordon’s voice. Water rushed from the sink’s tap, making Dean aware of the dull thudding in his head. _Great, a fucking nightmare and a goddamn headache. _He splashed cool water over his face. It helped wake him, but didn’t make him feel any better. _What a way to start the day. _

The carpet was soft beneath his bare feet as Dean crept out into the hallway. He couldn’t help but flash back to the rough, thin carpet of _that_ motel room. A shiver stole down his spine. As he stepped down the stairs the yelling cut off abruptly. There was a moment of silence then heavy footfalls and the rattling of the glass panes in the French doors. _Jesus, what’s going on? _

The smell of bitter coffee hit him before he saw Sam and Ruby standing at the kitchen island. Ruby’s arms were crossed, her hair cascaded over her shoulders, and an expression of thoughtful worry marred her face. Sam clutched a magazine and was as white as a sheet.

“What wrong?” Dean’s voice seemed to shock Sam, and his brother’s head snapped away from the magazine. “Has someone written something about you again?” After Sam’s big reveal last night, it wouldn’t surprise Dean.

Sam shook his head. “No.”

The trip to the island was short. Dean pressed his stomach into the counter and reached for the magazine. Sam moved it away, flipped it closed, and dropped his hand below the countertop. Before the magazine was out of sight, Dean caught a glimpse of Gordon’s dark face. “Sam,” Dean said warningly.

“Dean, I don’t think you should read this.” Sam’s tone was pleading.

“Let him have it,” Ruby said sharply. Sam flashed her an irritated look. She frowned and said, “It’s not like he won’t find out anyway. Besides, this concerns him too. It concerns all of us.” Sam lowered his eyes to the item in his hand and reluctantly raised it to the counter again. He slid it across to Dean.

It was _U.S. Weekly_, and a large headshot of Gordon graced the front. The headline read, _Evil Lurks Behind Closed Doors. _“It starts on page forty-two,” Sam said solemnly. Dean wasted no time. He shuffled to the right page. He saw the byline and his breath caught in his throat. He read.

**IDOL CONTESTANT ABUSES SISTER**   
**                                By Jeffrey Furry**

               GORDON WALKER, age 26, is amongst the top six contestants on America’s favorite reality television show, American Idol. With a powerful voice, a distinct look, and a strong personality, he’s been a fan favorite since the beginning. Week after week he receives promising critiques from the four American Idol judges. With everything going for this man, what should stop him from going all the way to the top?

               How about the fact he’s been abusing his younger sister for more than five years? Recent investigation had brought to light disturbing news about this year’s oldest American Idol contestant. Walker’s sister, Jamie Walker, has dozens of hospital reports detailing broken limbs, ugly bruises and shredded self-esteem. While Jamie declined to comment, we’ve spoken too many of those who’ve come in contact with the results of Walker’s sibling abuse.

              Five years ago, Jenifer Huston, a neighbor, called the police when she heard screams and crashes in the Walker resident. Mrs. Huston recounts the scene for us. “I heard the most awful screaming, and sounds like furniture crashing into walls.  I thought someone was breaking into their apartment. I was so worried. I dialed 911. When the police showed up, I found out that no one was there but Gordon and Jamie.”

              We were lucky enough to speak with the responding officer, Elton Kitchen. “I remember when my partner and I got there, the girl- she wasn’t more that seventeen then- was on the ground near the couch crying. A chunk of her hair had been ripped out and was lying on the floor next to her. Her scalp was bleeding. We arrested Gordon on the spot, but later released him. His sister wouldn’t say anything, and without her testament, we couldn’t keep him.”

          Is the picture becoming clearer? Twenty-one year old Gordon Walker beating up on his teenaged sister and the story isn’t even complete. Later that same year, Jamie Walker missed her high school graduation because she was in the hospital being treated for three broken ribs and a cracked jaw. When questioned by the hospital staff, a social worker, and the police, Jamie claimed she was mugged. The social worker, who will remain nameless, told us, “It was an obvious case of domestic abuse. I first thought it was her parents, and when I learned they had died the previous year in a plane crash, a boyfriend. However, when I met her brother, I knew it was him.” What made this social worker so sure? She responded, “I’ve been a social worker for more than twenty years, I can always tell who’s an abuser. It didn’t help that he seemed mad at his sister for needing the hospital treatment. Most brothers would be fraught with worry if their sisters were in the hospital for being mugged. Gordon seemed inconvenienced.”

             How could Gordon get away with this you ask? Leading psychologist Dr. Macy Marker explains, “Often time’s victims of abuse are under the impression they deserve the abuse in some way. Jamie’s parents had recently died when the ill-treatment began, and she was probably feeling guilt towards the situation. Most children do. When her brother- someone she supposed to be able to trust- starts maltreating her, she probably went into shock. Then, later on, when she realized things were not as they should be, Jamie was too scared of her brother to change.” Without a firsthand testament from the victim, it’s almost impossible to convict in court.

           These are not the only instances of suspect. Only two weeks ago Jamie Walker showed up in a Los Angeles emergency room needing a sling for a dislocated arm. So Gordon Walker, American’s beloved singer is, and has been, getting away with abuse for more than six years. Well, this reporter won’t stand by while someone like this is placed in a position of role model and idol. Gordon Walker needs to be removed from the American Idol competition. Gordon Walker needs to be seriously investigated by the police. Gordon Walker’s abuse needs to stop.  
            
           Who’s with me?

  
The paper shook with his trembling fingers. His stomach cramped and he slowly lifted his eyes to meet Sammy’s. “Is this true?”

“I don’t know. Bela brought the magazine in this morning after she went to the store for orange juice. Gordon came down and read it, and was on his phone seconds later.”

“I heard him yelling.” Dean looked back down at the picture of Gordon’s face. He slammed the magazine onto the counter, face down. An advertisement for Aussie shampoo glimmered up at him.

“I don’t know who he was talking too, but he hung up pretty angry after a good ten minutes of shouting,” Ruby added. She nodded to the doors off the living room. “He went outside.”

Dean licked his lips. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea Dean,” Sam said. “He didn’t look like he wanted company.”

Sam didn’t understand. He had always disliked Gordon, but Dean needed to give his friend the benefit of the doubt. That’s what friends did.  _These tabloids make up shit all the time. This can’t be true. _Dean thought of the few times he’d meet Gordon’s sister. She always seemed so shy and awkward. _This can’t be true, _he thought again. “I’m going to talk to him.”

That said, he strode outside. Gordon wasn’t near the pool, so Dean kept walking. He spotted the man near the end of the basketball court, one hand wrapped around the pole of the basket.  Dean stepped onto the court and winced as the heated blacktop burned his bare feet. “Gordon!” he shouted, not wanting to startle the man.

Gordon turned around. Lines of fury were wrinkled across forehead and over the bridge of his nose. His eyes burned like molten lead. When the Winchester came within touching distance, Gordon said, “Dean.” The word came out sounding like it had been dragged over smoldering coals.

“Tell me it’s not true. That you would never hurt your sister like that.”

Gordon didn’t look away.  The darkness in his eyes didn’t abate. The look was like a punch to the gut.  “Jesus.”

“You shouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Dean.”

Dean exploded. “Motherfucker! How could you?”

Gordon released the pole and stepped back. “You have to understand Dean,” Gordon voice was like honey. “I did it for her own good. Jamie’s always been a wild girl, even before our parents died. She needed someone to rein her in.”

“And it was the job of your fists to do that?” Dean shouted.

“I tried to use words, but words couldn’t get past the haze of heroin. Dean, she was drug addict. Heroin, meth, cocaine- she did anything she could get her hands on. I had to make her understand she couldn’t do that.”

“And after she stopped?” Dean growled, because it was obvious from the times he had seen her that the girl wasn’t using.   




At this Gordon looked away. When his gaze returned, he responded, “She needed it Dean. It’s why she’s never told.” Dean flashed to Dad, and his own silence. He looked at Gordon’s face, and knew that the other man truly believed in what he said.

Dean curled his hand into a fist and hit him for all he was worth.

~//~

Three hours later Dean’s knuckles were aching, Gordon was gone doing who knows what, and Kim, Dean favorite AI producer, showed up at the house. “Get everyone in the living room.” Dean nodded and shouted as he went around gathering his fellow contestants. Jo, Sam and Ruby were playing Rummy outside on the pool’s patio, and Bela was running on the treadmill in the mansion’s little gym.

Once everyone was seated on the couches, Kim spoke. “I’m sure by now you’ve all read or heard about U.S. Weekly’s article on Gordon.” The room was silent, but everyone nodded.

“What’s going to happen?”  Sam asked.

“I’m getting there. Be patient,” she snapped back. “Apparently it’s not just a story. The reporter, Jeff Furry, gathered some pretty damning evidence against Gordon. The LAPD have begun an official investigation. As of ten minutes ago on my way over, the word is that Jamie Walker is spilling her guts at the police station. More than likely, Gordon is going to be arrested.”

“Holy shit,” Jo muttered from the seat beside Dean.

“So what does that mean for us?” Bela asked.

“It means,” Kim began, “that the other producers and I have made the decision that Gordon will not be competing on American Idol anymore.” Kim let the words hang in the air.

Dean dropped his head into his hands and twisted his fingers tightly into his hair. The twinge in his knuckles was welcomed. A hand dropped onto his shoulder. Dean turned and looked up.

“I’m sorry. I know he was your friend, and you wanted to believe the best of him.” Sam said. It wasn’t the words, but the empathic tone in his brother’s voice that brought comfort. Dean gave his brother a weak smile then thought;_ At least I’ll always have Sammy._

“We’re still discussing how we’re going to handle this for the show.” Kim’s voice cut across Dean’s inner musings. He turned his attention back to her. “We’re talking with the judges and Ryan to figure out what we want to do. We’re still going to have the show tonight; you’ll all be staying.” Dean saw Bela and Ruby exchange quick, happy grins.

_As if that’s the important thing, _Dean thought cynically. _Gordon Walker is an abusive bastard and they’re happy they won’t be kicked out of this motherfucking competition._

“We’re asking you to be at the theater early today, around five,” Kim said. “Hopefully we’ll have an appropriate show to put on by then.”

Dean snorted. Kim frowned. “I know this isn’t an ideal situation. Gordon’s actions come as a shock to all of us. We’re dealing with this the best we can.” She paused and looked at each one of them. “But this is a show, and as they say, the show must go on.”

~//~

The show did go on. Somehow the producers put together an forty minutes worth of clips of both this and previous seasons, displaying the goodness of American Idol contestants all while sneaking in motivational clips on dealing with domestic violence. John Mayer ate up the rest of the time playing songs off his upcoming album. Gordon’s absence from the show was skirted around all night. Seacrest did an excellent job of condemning the man without actually mentioning him by name. Dean would have been impressed with it all if he wasn’t too busy feeling pissed at everything.

Seacrest played up the tension by pretending none of them knew that one of them wasn’t going home. At the end of the show he announced, “Jo, Bela, both of you are safe from tonight’s elimination.” They faked shock and excitement. “Everyone will perform again next week, and your votes for the two weeks will be averaged.” He announced that the following week’s theme was Hits of the 90s. Then the show was over.

As soon as they were off stage, Kim came up to the group and said, “Every needs to pick happy, hopeful song for next week.” She eyed Dean. “That means no heavy rock, or slow, melodic songs. Got it?” Her tone brooked no argument. Then they were carted around the hundred of reporters shouting questions about Gordon back to the mansion.

Dean walked slowly past the empty rooms upstairs. When he came to Gordon’s, he twisted open the door and looked inside. The room was as empty as when they moved in. Jake’s stuff had been gone since last week, but Gordon belongings had been here when they left for the theater. _He must have come back and packed while we were away. _The carpet had been recently vacuumed and the scent of lemon cleaner hung in the air.

“Are you alright?” Sam asked from behind him. Dean had noticed his arrival.

“No.”  He felt the air condense as Sammy stepped closer, and he felt the heat of Sam’s hand as it hovered near the nape of his neck. Their breaths echoed each other.  Sammy never laid his hand down. Eventually, Dean felt his brother move away.  

Dan stood there until everyone had brushed their teeth, shut their doors and clicked off their lights. The room remained empty.

~//~

It wasn’t until Sunday afternoon that Dean got a chance to call Bobby back. The fallout of Gordon’s exit hit hard. Besides the paparazzi camped out through the neighborhood, desperate for pictures of them and words about Gordon Walker, each of the contestants was pulled in for questioning by the LAPD.

“Did Gordon Walker ever mention anything about his sister?” the detective asked.

Dean thought about lying, just on principal. He had never trusted the police.  In his experience they’re mostly domineering idiots. He probably would have lied in any other situation, but he thought about Gordon beating up on his sister- _his only goddamn remaining family- _and told them everything Gordon ever mentioned about Jamie. He told them about their conversation on the basketball field.  He told it to them once, and the detective scribbled like a maniac on his notepad. Then after a five minute break, he told it again, this time with the video camera recording it in the room.

Finally, Sunday rolled around and Dean had a minute to himself. In an attempt to cheer up, Sam, Bela, Ruby and Jo started a bowl-off. The winner got dinner made for the rest of the week. “Put me last,” Dean told them. “I’ll be there in a minute. I need to make a phone call.”

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“I’m going to check up on Bobby, see how he’s doing.”

“Let me talk with him when you’re done,” Sammy asked.

“Sure thing.” Dean stood outside the door of the in-house bowling alley and waited until everyone else was inside. He dialed Bobby’s number.

“Hey boy,” Bobby answered the phone.

“Hey, Bobby.” Dean’s voice was tense.

Bobby sighed. “I haven’t found out anything new. I talked to Caleb and Pastor Jim to see if John’s contacted them. He hasn’t.”

“What about Rufus or Daniel? Did you talk to them?”

“Daniel is out of the country with his new wife. There’s no way he’s seen your Dad. I left a message with Rufus asking about it, but Dean, he would have called me if John showed up there. Any of John’s old buddies would have called me. They know how your father is.”

Dean ran a hand up the back of his neck. “I know Bobby, I know.”

“I did talk to the nurses at the institution though. They said your Dad was in real bad shape before he snuck out. He was more delusional than ever. Apparently he thinks a yellow-eyed demon has been coming to him and telling him about the apocalypse.”

“Fuck.” Dean had no other response.

“More than likely your dad is wandering around the streets searching for imagery demons.” Bobby’s words weren’t comforting. Dean wasn’t sure they were meant to be.

_Dad could be dead. _The thought sent a bolt of relieved fear down Dean’s throat. He didn’t want Dad to be dead, but Dean couldn’t face the reality of the man’s illness. “Do you think he’ll come here?” Dean asked.

Dean heard shuffling through the phone, like Bobby was pacing through the library that was his house. Then Bobby said, “He might, but I don’t think so. How is he going to find you? The last he’d heard you and Sammy were at Stanford.”

Even though Bobby couldn’t see him, he nodded.  “Okay, thanks for the information Bobby.”

“It’s not a problem.” Bobby paused. “Boy, the thought of your Daddy doing something to you or your brother eats me. I’m sorry I never intervened when you were younger.”

All of the moisture in Dean’s mouth evaporated. He swallowed, trying to dampen the sandpaper of his tongue. “It’s enough that you cared too Bobby.”

There was a moment of silence, Dean imagined Bobby needed to compose himself, and then Bobby said, “I’ll see you in three weeks at the finale of that show of yours.”

Dean smiled. “Thanks Bobby.”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be. Now get that giant brother of yours on the phone. It’s been too long since I’ve talked to him.”

“Sure thing,” Dean said with a laugh. He obeyed.

~//~

They had directions to sing happy, hopeful songs for Hits of the 90s week. For Dean, this was easier said than done. “There are no happy songs from the nineties,” Dean had told Sammy.

His brother showed him no sympathy. “Yes there are.” He handed over his laptop. “Here you go. Search for them.”

Dean had pouted. “You’re not going to help me?”

Sam shook his head no. “I’m going to lay out at the pool with Ruby.”

“Traitor.” Dean had pulled the laptop to his chest. Sam rolled his eyes and left. It took Dean three hours of searching (admittedly he took some breaks to look at porn) to find a suitable song.

“Found one!” he had bragged to his brother. Sam had ignored him and Dean called the producers to let them know the good news. Then he found out Bela wanted the song as well.  “Choose a different song!” he shouted.

“I choose this song first, and besides, the song is sung by a girl.”

That didn’t stop Dean. “So what? Men can sing songs written by females and vice versa.”

The producers had to get involved. They placed two pieces of paper into a hat. One had the name of the song; the other was blank. He and Bela both drew one of the pieces. “Ha! I get to sing it,” he rubbed in her face. It was the first moment of excitement he felt all week.

“Fine,” she snapped and stormed off. Dean didn’t much care.

Now, getting ready to go on stage, he wasn’t sure if he’d chosen the best song. _It’s not really me, _he worried. _What if I get laughed at? _He was ushered to the stage left and Seacrest announced him.

“Our second contestant of the night, Dean Winchester, is singing Alanis Morissette’s _Ironic._”

Then the music was playing and Dean went on stage, dressed in a pair of his own worn jeans, his classic black t-shirt with an opened gray button-up over top. His amulet lay against his chest.  “_An old man turned ninety-eight. He won the lottery and died the next day. It's a black fly in your Chardonnay. It's a death row pardon two minutes too late. And isn't it ironic... don't you think.” _Dean cupped his hands around the head of the mic and gave the crowd a dimpled smile.  The music sped up.

“_It's like rain on your wedding day. It's a free ride when you've already paid. It's the good advice that you just didn't take; and who would've thought... it figures_.”  Dean laughed and licked his lips. “_Mr. Play It Safe was afraid to fly. He packed his suitcase and kissed his kids goodbye. He waited his whole damn life to take that flight, and as the plane crashed down he thought, "Well isn't this nice..." And isn't it ironic... don't you think?” _

Dean stepped back from the mic and shrugged off his button-up, letting it hang loosely from the crook of his arm. _“It's like rain on your wedding day. It's a free ride when you've already paid. It's the good advice that you just didn't take. And who would've thought... it figures_.”

He pulled off the head of the mic and walked towards the edge of the stage. “_Well life has a funny way of sneaking up on you when you think everything's okay and everything's going right.” _He jumped off the stage, surprising the audience and walked towards the judge’s table. “_And life has a funny way of helping you out when you think everything's gone wrong and everything blows up in your face_.”

He held the mic with one hand and ran the fingers of his other across the edge of the long table. “_A traffic jam when you're already late. A no-smoking sign on your cigarette break.”_ He continued on to the right side of the audience. They were on their feet, some crying and others shouting. He reached out his free hand to touch those who have their own limbs extended. “_It's like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife. It's meeting the man of my dreams, and then meeting his beautiful wife. And isn't it ironic...don't you think? A little too ironic...and, yeah, I really do think...”_

About ten feet up the isle he turned around and began his journey back to the stage, repeating his gestures to the other side of the audience. “_It's like rain on your wedding day  
it’s a free ride when you've already paid. It's the good advice that you just didn't take. And who would've thought... it figures.”_

He took the steps back up the stage and headed back to the mic stand and stuck the head back in as he finished. _“Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you. Life has a funny, funny way of helping you out. Helping you out.”_

Dean tied his shirt around his waist as the audience cheered like maniacs. He gave them grateful smiles- they really did make him feel good most times- then he faced the judges.

"You know, I was prepared to dislike your performance,” Simon said. “But it was surprisingly good. It was different than your usual, but not bad.”

“Dean, you are a Jack of all Trades. You took a female pop song and made it your own. That is what American Idol is all about.” Paula raved.

Kara smiled at him and said, “That was interesting. I really didn’t expect a pop song out of you, though I will agree with Simon and say I liked it, even though it was different. Great work.”  

Randy went last. “Dean, dawg. That was cool. I don’t think that pop is your thing, but you’re talented enough to pull it off.”

“Thanks,” Dean said into his microphone.

As the night wore on, and the other contestants performed, Dean’s forced grin became real. The worries of the week faded away, at least for the moment, and he thought, _Thank God for music.  _  



	14. The Final 4

_We are down to the final four folks. This week our last two males and two females will battle it out with songs of their own choosing. With the finale only three weeks away, who will continue on to compete for the title of American Idol?_

_~//~_

 

Dean woke to the soft wheezes of Sammy’s snoring. The familiar sound felt good, and Dean smiled groggily into the dark bedroom. Sleep caked in the corners of his eyes, and they burned with fatigue. _Jesus, what time is it? _He rolled over to look at the alarm clock. _Four-fifty-five. Way too early. _He buried his head into his pillow. The scent of his own musky sweat, and the slightly sweet tang of his hair gel clouded his nostrils.

Sam’s wheezes became louder, and the putt-putt-putt sound of a lawn mower being started drifted through the open window. A second passed, and then the chirping of happy birds joined the other sounds.  _Goddamn. _With a groan, he dragged his body out of bed and pattered to the window. He pushed back the curtains to get a good hold on the sliding half of the window and dragged it shut. The chirping and putt-putt-putts cut off.

_Thank God for good, solid windows._ Dean was about to return to bed, because four hours of sleep wasn’t enough for fuck’s sake, when he happened to glance outside. The rising sun peeked over the horizon, giving what appeared to be the start of a cloudless day a gentle orange-pink glow.  Off in the distance, past the pool and the basketball court where grass shone with morning dew, a short Hispanic looking man was making circles in a riding mower. And there, sitting at the edge of one the pool lounge chairs was Jo, dressed in a long white nightgown, legs bare from knee down, cradling a blue porcelain mug, looking like the whole world was about to collapse on her.

Dean didn’t think twice. Sporting just a pair of Wal-Mart bought boxers and his amulet, he left the comfort of his bedroom and made his way downstairs and outside. Even though it was the beginning of May and five in the morning, it was already warm. He walked quietly around the edge of the pool, until Jo was a few feet away. She paid no notice to his arrival.

Tentatively, Dean sat on the lounger next to hers. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Her head snapped up, and she quickly ran the back of her hand across her eyes. Dean turned his head away to give her time to collect herself. Still, when he turned back, her eyes were red and puffy. Discomfort itched across his skin; Valiantly, Dean did not drag his nails across his arm.

Jo bowed her head. Her hair fell forward and hid her face. Dean noticed that what he originally thought was a nightgown was actually an oversized t-shirt. In the upper left corner of the shirt were the words _The Roadhouse_. Her chest rose, like she was inhaling air to fuel her courage, and then in a low voice she said, “My dad was a singer.”

It didn’t require a response, so Dean kept his mouth shut and listened.

“He and my mom bought the bar when I was very young. They took turns bartending and running the business, but Thursday through Sunday nights my dad would bring out his acoustic guitar, sit in the corner and sing for the crowd.” She lifted her head, and Dean saw the happy memories glisten in her eyes. “He was amazing, Dean. If he had wanted, he could have been another Johnny Cash.”

Dean didn’t doubt it.

“When I was about five he started letting me sing with him. I’d sit on his lap or stand at his side, and we’d impress the hell out of the bar crew.” She laughed. “I remember a time, just after my twelfth birthday, when we sang a rendition of _Sweet Home Alabama. _This guy came up to us and offered me a contract to record.” Jo paused and looked up at the sky. “My dad wanted me to do it. Said I was ambitious and talented enough to succeed. I said no. At the time the thought of moving to LA or New York- having to be so far from my parents and friends- terrified me. I just wanted to sing for my Daddy.”

Jo’s hand clutched tighter around the mug.  Her eyes met Dean’s, and she flashed him a sad grin. “The next year my dad was dead. Killed in a hunting accident.” She snorted. “The only thing my dad liked as much as singing was hunting.”

Dean lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry.” There was nothing else he could think to say.

“Yeah, me too.” The sound of flesh peeling from the sticky plastic of the lounge chair slots had Dean raising his gaze again. Jo moved from her chair to his. She slid close to him; her bare knee touched his, and he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her against his chest. She continued talking. “I tried out for American Idol because of him.”  Her words vibrated against his skin from where her cheek lay against him. She stopped talking, maybe to let the words sink in, or to collect her thoughts. Dean just waited, holding her tight.

Then, after Dean thought she might have fallen asleep, she whispered, “I don’t want to go home.” 

Sorrow hit his chest and ricocheted throughout his body. “You’re not going to go home.” At least the words sounded convincing. _For Sammy to win, and me to stay with him, Jo has to go home. _The thought unsettled him. It wasn’t that he’d never thought about it before. When Ash went home, Dean spent too much time contemplating the hurtful nature of the competition, all the while wishing everyone who deserved it could be winners. However, Jo was, well, Jo. She was tough, and sarcastic, and liked drinking beer and eating greasy food. She worshipped muscle cars, and guns and listened to rock songs. She was the little sister he’d never had. She was his friend.

“I’m not delusional, Dean.” There was a snap of anger in her voice. “We both know you and Sammy are here to stay. Ruby’s shockingly talented, and Bela, well, Bela’s smoking hot.”

“Bela isn’t half the girl you are,” Dean said honestly. Bela was a manipulative bitch who always looked out for number one. Dean wouldn’t be surprised if she’d leave a family member dying if it would get her good publicity.

Jo’s hair tickled him as she lifted up her head. “Thanks, I appreciate that. But I know how the world works. Looks mean a lot, and Bela’s got looks in spades.”

He stared down into his friends eyes. “Hey, don’t give up on America so easily. It’s going to be you, me and Sammy all the way to the top.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Then she leaned forward and placed a kiss on Dean’s cheek. “Thanks.” Awkward shock tumbled through him, but before he could respond she slapped him on the leg and said, “Now come on, let’s go inside, before the breeze blows up my shirt.”

Dean laughed and stood. Jo followed suit. “Yeah, I think that guy mowing the grass it trying to get a look at your underwear. He’s been mowing that same spot for ten minutes.”

She laughed. It was light and genuine. “Hey, maybe I’ll let him. It’s not like I’m getting any from anyone else.”

Dean let out an indignant squawk but grinned at the amused look in Jo’s eyes. It felt good to see the light replace the darkness in her eyes. He only hoped Americans would make the right choice for tonight’s vote.

He only had to wait twelve hours to find out.

~//~

There seemed to be more people in the audience than usual. Dean knew this was illogical. The theater only held five hundred seats, and it was packed to the gills every week. There was no possible way to have more people in the theater tonight. Still, people seemed to press forward from every which direction, cheering on their favorite contestants while manically waving around their signs.

Dean looked over at Bela. She was sitting there wearing a smug grin, and he wanted nothing more than to deck her. Instead, he forced his attention back to the middle of the stage were Seacrest had Ruby and Jo waiting anxiously for the voter’s results. Ruby had this dark, but otherwise emotionless expression on her face. Her bottom lip was sucked into her mouth. Dean spared a glance to his brother.

Sam looked worried. _Rightfully so, _Dean thought. _It’s either Jo, who’s our friend, or Ruby, the girl he likes, going home tonight. _Dean was not above admitting he hoped it was Ruby.

“Ruby,” Seacrest turned to the brunette. “Jo,” he turned to the blonde. “You both had the lowest votes.” He paused, looked at the audience, and turned back to the girls. “Ruby, you are not going home. Jo, I’m sorry you had the lowest vote. Tonight is your last show.”

Jo wrapped her arms around herself and gave a curt nod. Dean felt like someone had taken a two-by-four to his chest. He wanted to get off stage and demand Ryan change the results. He wanted to go comfort her, but she took the mic from the host and began to sing her last song. _Come to My Window _didn’t seem an appropriate departure song for his friend.

Then the show was over, everyone went back stage, and Jo came towards him, her head bowed towards the floor. She stopped an arm’s length away and said, “I guess this means goodbye.”

A band squeezed around Dean’s chest. Something heavy clogged his throat, and he swallowed it down. “No. It just means ‘see you later.’” The smile she flashed him had nothing to do with happiness or amusement. It spoke of sadness and regret. Dean closed the distance between them.  He cupped his hand under her chin and lifted until her eyes met his. “Your dad would be proud of you.” Tears flooded her eyes, but she blinked them away. Her mouth opened and closed, as if she had something to say but no words to express it.

“Hey,” Sam startled them both. Dean’s head snapped over Jo’s body to his brother. Jo twisted around and flashed Sam the same sad smile she had given Dean. Sam wrapped his long arms around her and squeezed her tight. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” she sniffled into Sam’s broad chest.

Dean heard the click of high heeled boots, and he looked past Sam to see Ruby heading their way. “Hey guys,” she greeted. Her tone was tight, but held an undercurrent of smugness.

“Congratulations,” Jo muttered in Ruby’s direction.

Ruby nodded and gave Jo a quick, fake smile, then turned her attention to Sam. “It’s our turn with the press.” She held out her hand.

Sam looked from Jo to Dean and said, “I’ll talk to you later, before you leave.” He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. He stepped back and laced his fingers with Ruby’s. She guided him away.

Dean watched them walk away. Then he looked back to Jo and said, “Want to go steal some pizza from the PA’s buffet table?”   




She nodded then swept her hair into a ponytail, securing it with the band on her wrist. She brushed the back of her hand across her eyes then set off. Dean didn’t immediately follow. Jo looked back over her shoulder and said, “Come on.”

~//~

When Sam walked into the kitchen, Dean threw down his magazine. Sam glanced at it, raised his eyebrow and said, “Reading the tabloids now?”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Reading about you and your new girlfriend.”

Sam winced. “Yeah, I didn’t know Ruby was going to say that.”

“So is she your girlfriend?”

The question seemed to bother Sam. He curled his lip and stared down at the picture of him and Ruby on the cover of _In Touch_. “I…I like Ruby.”

“But…” Dean prompted.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I can’t really explain it.”

Dean tapped the counter. “Well, I don’t trust her.”

“Dean…”

“What? I don’t. Would I prefer you not to sleep with her? God yes. Do I think you’ll listen to me? Hell, no.”

As if summoned, Ruby walked in. She cuddled up to Sam’s side. Dean frowned. “You guys talking about me?” she asked, knowingly.

“No, of course not,” Sam replied.

She smirked and bent her head back to look him in the face. “Really, because I heard my name.”

Dean almost laughed at Sam’s flabbergasted expression. “Uh…” he stammers.

“We were talking about this,” Dean said, tapping at the magazine on the counter.

She slanted her body forward to peek at the magazine. “Yeah, I read about that this morning online.” She seemed so nonchalant that Dean was immediately suspicious.

“And that didn’t bother you? That they’re writing about your sex life?” He made it sound like she had done something heinous. 

“Why should it? I don’t care what these people think.” She shrugged and placed her hands on her hips. “Face it Dean, you’re just pissed off that it’s me in the picture instead of you.”

For one long second Dean stared at her, shocked. The shock quickly turned to anger. He was out of his seat in an instance. “Fuck you bitch.” He snapped his gaze to his brother. “Are you going to let her talk to me like that?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably. He reached up and pushed his bangs away from his face. “Ruby, please don’t say things like that to my brother.” Ruby’s mouth thinned into a small, straight line. “But Dean, Ruby has a point.” Dean’s mouth dropped open. “We don’t know how the reporters got a hold of this information, but most of it is about Ruby. And if it doesn’t bother her, it shouldn’t bother us.”




“Jesus, Sam.” 

"What’s the matter, Dean? Can’t stand for your brother to be happy?” Ruby said snidely.

“Ruby!” Sam growled. “You’re not helping. Go take a walk or something.”

She flashed Dean a look that screamed, _Wait until you’re sleeping. I’ll get you then, _before she stormed off. “Jesus, Sam!” Dean shouted again the moment she was out of sight.

“Dean, please. I know Ruby isn’t your favorite person, but can you just attempt to get along with her?”

Dean sputtered. “Sammy, first she implied that I wanted to sleep with you, then she said I didn’t want you to be happy. That doesn’t scream good person to me.”

Sam’s sighed and scratched at the back of his neck.  “I’m not asking you to like Ruby. I’m asking you to give her a chance.” Dean’s incredulous look didn’t waver. “For me, Dean.”

The soft words made his anger melt, and his resolve crumble. “Fine.” Sam’s head bowed in relief. “But you’re still singing the duet with me.”

Sam smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of anything else.”

~//~

Tuesday came in what seemed like a matter of minutes. Between practicing his own song- the awesome _Traveling Riverside Blues_ – and his and Sammy’s duet, he hadn’t had a moment to breathe since before Jo left.

“Hurry up, they’re calling us to the lounge,” Sam shouted through the bathroom door. Dean finished washing his hands, and instead of pressing the high-powered dryer and sticking them under it, he wiped them down the side of his jeans. Hustling, he used his back to push open the door and then jogged towards his brother.

“Hold you’re horses, Sammy. I’m coming.” Truthfully, Dean didn’t care to be in the lounge. Ruby and Bela were up first and second tonight, and if he wasn’t being forced by the producers to sit through their solo performances, he’d be at the buffet table chatting up the cute catering waitress.

“Come on,” Sam said again the moment Dean was in touching distance. He held open the lounge door and used his shoulder to motion inside.

“Dude, I’m here. Let up.”

They settled down the on the red couch, which was eerily empty. With only four of them left, three really, since one of them was usually out on the stage, the large room was almost too big. Dean turned his attention to the television screen just as the American Idol logo bobbed on screen, and the theme song blared out. Ryan Seacrest began the show, then brought Ruby on stage. She stood off to the side as the giant screen on stage sparked to life, and a short home video of a seven year old Ruby DeMill sang in her parent’s living room.

When the video was over, the screen flashed to short interviews with Ruby’s parents. Dean had met her folks once, and he’d be happy never to come in contact with them again. Her mom was smoking hot, all blonde and tall and willowy. The woman had seriously given Dean the creeps with just the few words, “Hello, I’m Lilith, Ruby’s mother,” and a disturbing sideways grin. Ruby’s dad, also a tall and thin, was just as scary. “Dean, please call me Alistair,” he had said while patting Dean’s hand lightly. The man had leered at Dean in a way that wasn’t at all friendly.

_Ugh, no wonder Ruby’s such a creep-o. Her parents are serial killers or something. _Dean looked away from the screen as the two doting parents praised their daughter’s abilities on the big screen. When they were finished, Seacrest announced Ruby’s song, and Ruby did her thing. Despite the fact Dean disliked the girl, he had to admit she had talent. _Way more than Bela. _Speaking of whom, the poised brunette came on stage next, and there was a repeat performance of loving family members (this time Bela’s aunt and uncle) praising the wonders of their niece’s singing abilities. Dean sighed and wished Bela would hurry up and finish.

Finally, it was Sam and Dean’s turn. They were doing their duet first, followed by each of their solos and then Ruby and Bela were ending the show with their duet. They walked on stage and were directed to take the two stools by the left hand side of the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen before our Winchester brothers take the stage tonight for their duet, let’s take a look back at their past.”

Dean’s eyes narrow in bewilderment. He knew both he and Sammy had taped short segments about each other’s singing history, but what were else were they going to show? As the theater lights dimmed and the screen glowed back to life, Sam leaned over and whispered, “I wonder which video they used of ours.”

Suddenly, Dean remembered, _That’s right, I gave them the box of tapes out of the Impala. _He wondered what they had found. _I can remember some of what Sam taped over the years, but not a lot of it. _Dean snorted to himself remember a preteen Sammy wandering around their various motel rooms and rented houses, camcorder glued to his hand and eye. Curious, Dean focused on the giant screen.

The sight of a small, worn four person table appeared first. Crackling hisses of something cooking snapped somewhere off camera and then Sam’s young face was on screen. “Hi!” Sam spoke to the crowd. It was obvious from the camera angle that he was the one holding the recording device. “My name is Samuel Winchester and I’m recording parts of my life for Mr. Kendrick’s sixth grade autobiography project.” Dean couldn’t help but smile at seeing Sam before he had shot up like a sprout and his voice had deepened. His brother’s eleven year old face still had a layer of baby fat, but his hazel eyes were as warm as they were today.

The lens swooped away from Sammy’s face and the audience got a 180 of the tiny kitchen and living room. Faded flower print wall paper decorated the walls, and a battered brown couch and thirteen inch TV designated living room from the kitchen. _That’s in Buffalo, New York, _Dean recalled. _Dad had taken a job with a local mechanic, and they had stayed there almost six months._ It had been one of their more peaceful times.

Next the refrigerator appeared. It was faded off-white. The freezer door was covered in leftover residue from stickers. Dean always figured the previous owner had lots of kids. The camera panned to counter and cabinets that had seen better days. Then a teenage boy appeared.

He was shirtless. Pale white skin stretched over a long, but thin back. Hints of muscle bulged under the boy’s shoulders, and when the boy flipped a pancake out of the frying pan onto a nearby plate, his neatly formed biceps popped in use.  Dirty blonde hair stuck up in every which direction, as if the boy had just rolled out of bed.

“This is my brother Dean,” Sammy said from behind the camera. “Dean, wave to the camera.”

Dean watched as his fifteen year old self twisted off the heat on the stove, picked up two pancake-filled plates, and turned around. “Hey Sammy’s class.” Young Dean nodded to the camera. “I’m Dean Winchester; the awesome brother.”

"Sam, Dean. I’m too old to be called Sammy,” camera Sammy screeched with long suffering annoyance.

Dean set the plates down with a plop. “Oh, excuse me. Sam.” There was nothing but humor in Dean’s tone.

The camera flashed over Dean’s face and followed his body down, past his arm to the pancakes on the table. “These are Dean’s birthday pancakes. They’re the best!” A bottle of maple syrup appeared in the camera’s view. Dean’s fingers were only in frame for a second.

“Sit down,” fifteen year old Dean commanded. There was some shuffling, and the camera bobbled for a few seconds as Sam took his seat. Then the camera was focused again. Sam zeroed in on his brother once more, and the whole American Idol audience watched as the teenager disappeared down a short hallway, only to reappear moments later with a guitar in one hand and a small birthday cake in the other. Two long blue candles jutted out from the frosting. Dean set the cake on the table, strapeds the guitar over his bare chest and pulled out a lighter from his jean pocket. Seconds later the camera zoomed in on the flames and the green icing on the cake that read, _Happy Birthday, Sammy!_  Sammy sighed, a sound of delight, and on screen Dean began to play his guitar and sing.

_“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birth-day to Sammy. Happy birthday to you.” _An audible intake of air echoed from the speakers in the theater, and the newly eleven year old Sam Winchester blew out his candles and made a wish.

_Sam never did tell his birthday wishes. _Dean snorted. _Kid thought they’d never come true if he’d spill the beans. _ 

The on-screen Sam turned the camera, and suddenly, his joyful face took up the whole American Idol monitor. “Happy Birthday.”

The scene faded to adult Sam’s question and answer session about Dean’s musical identity. Dean’s taped session about Sam was played next. A strange, heavy feeling clouded the theater when the video was all over. Dean ignored it and focused on the goodwill he was feeling towards his brother just then. Memories of happy times always left Dean nostalgic.

“And here are the Winchester brother’s singing _There and Back Again.” _

Sam was the first to his microphone. Dean had to pick up his guitar from Dennis, their drum player, but he was soon at his spot. Before they began, Dean spared a glance at his brother. Sam locked his eyes with Dean’s and smiled. _This is what life is about. Music and family. Nothing else matters. _

Dennis started with a strong, somewhat angry beat. Dean matched it with his guitar. Sam started the vocals. _“Take, take your time. Smell the roses, but steal the vines.” _His voice was deep and smooth.

On the next line, Dean sang. “_Don't wait for the hands of time. To second guess and change your mind.” _Dean’s voice wasn’t as smooth as his brothers. His held a rough, slightly scratchy quality that Sam could never seem to match. __

Together they sang, “_And shine. Here's your moment to shine. Shine.”_

Dean could barely focus on the audience. With Sam by his side, it was like all those times they had spouted off some random song in a dull motel room or in the Impala. It felt so good to be by Sammy’s side. The first chorus was Dean’s. “_Lay down, my friend. Close your eyes, breathe in, And I'll take you there and back again. No more questions why.  
I'm not so surprised. Why, you have been there and back again.”_

Sam had the next verse. “_Replace, replace that line. That spoke to you, and showed no signs to be alive. So are you livin' or dead? You have made a choice to hear your voice, or hold on to what they said. Now, shine. Here's your moment to shine. Shine.”_

Dean leaned in to his mic. The next chorus they shared. _“Lay down, my friend. Close your eyes, breathe in, and I'll take you there and back again. No more questions why. I'm not so surprised. Why, you have been there and back again.”_

_“Back again, back again. Back again, back again_.” Dean glanced over as their voices melded together. Sam’s gaze was locked somewhere in the audience. Dean wondered what he was thinking. If he was thinking at all.

_“Lay down, my friend. Close your eyes, breathe in, and I'll take you there and back again. No more questions why. I'm not so surprised. Why you have been there and back again,”_ Sam sang, while Dean strummed out on his guitar.

They ended together. “_Lay down, my friend. Close your eyes, breathe in, and I will take you there and back again. No more questions why. I'm not so surprised. Why you have  
been there and back again.”_

The music didn’t fade out until a good eight-count after their vocals. Heat from the overhead lights and his excursion caused sweat to pour down his face. Sammy was worse off. Dean could make out a large sweat pool at the nape of his shirt. Seacrest said something, but Dean didn’t catch it. The crowd was shouting too loudly, and Dean’s attention was on his brother. Sam wasn’t looking his way, so Dean took the initiative to close the distance between them and clasp his brother on the shoulder. 

Sam surprised him by twisting around and enfolding Dean in a hug. “Dude, you stink,” Dean whined playfully. 

“That was awesome!” Sam raved.

Dean slapped Sam’s back. “It was.”

Sam smiled and pulled back. The audience was still cheering, possibly even louder than before, and both Winchesters waved at their fans. _It’s nice not to get graded after a performance, _Dean thought. He’d forgotten what that was like.

Seacrest made some comment about tuning in after the commercial break for their solo performances, and Dean finally the noticed the buzz that meant commercial time. “I need something to drink,” Sam stated.

Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

They went to commercial break, and Sam and Dean were let off stage. The both made a beeline towards the catering table’s water bottles. Sam twisted off the little plastic cap and chugged his water. Dean was two seconds behind. Jeannette, the PA, wandered over to the table. “You ready to go on again, Sam?” she asked.

Sam finished his water and said, “Yeah.”

Dean thumped him on the back. “Dude, sing the shit out of _One Last Breath.” _

Sam gave him a confused sideways glance, but then smiled. “Thanks.” Creed wasn’t Dean’s type of music, but Dean knew Sam could make almost anything rock. “I know you’ll amaze them with _Travelling Riverside Blues.”_

Dean snorted. “It’s only the best song ever written.”

“The Led Zeppelin version only of course.”

“Of course,” Dean concurred with a grin.

“Alright people, we’re back on in sixty seconds. Sam to the stage. Dean back into the lounge.” 

Sharing one more smile, they followed their directions. Sam disappeared around the corner as Dean walked back into the lounge. As Dean settled himself as far away from Bela and Ruby as he could, he had a sudden realization. _There are only three weeks left. _

_Holy shit. _


	15. The Final 3

_Tonight our contestants will sing two songs each. One picked out by the judges, one hit from a previous American Idol contestant. Tonight’s performances are vital, for there are only two chances left to show American what they can do. Two more chances to compete to be the American Idol_

_~//~_

Dean took the steps two at a time, enjoying the stretch in his legs. He was on a covert mission to steal Sam’s laptop to use for his own nefarious purpose. _Hey, if Sammy can get some from that sneaky bitch Ruby, I can get some from my own hand and BustyAsianBeauties.com._ His brother had disappeared after the results show with his scary-ass girlfriend. _They’re probably off doing weird shit. _Dean gave a mental shake, attempting to dislodge the thought. _Gross. _ 

__He was only a few steps from his room when a low sob caught his attention. Pausing, he listened. Another muted cry came from back down the hall. Knowing there was only one person the sound could be coming from, Dean almost ignored her and went inside his room, but a little, hiccupping choke floated past the closed door and curiosity jumped him.

The door down the hall was slightly ajar, and pale yellow light spilled out along with the soft cries. He wanted to just barge in, to see what was going on, but another sharp sob stopped him. Instead, he raised his hand and knocked.

“Go away,” Bela’s cultured voice demanded. Dean could hear muted grief in her tone and a sliver of unease settled into his stomach. He stepped back, planning to heed her wishes, when another little, choking sob slipped through the inch of space between the door and door frame.

Dean sighed._ Fucking conscience won’t let me walk away from a sad woman.  _Dean pushed his way in, “Bela…”

She was on the floor near the foot of her bed. A large suitcase sat wide open, half-full of clothes. She hadn’t changed from the results show, and he couldn’t imagine that her high heeled leather boots and tight designer jeans were comfortable. When he entered, her head popped up and glared at him. “Come to make fun of me?” she snapped. Her face was red and blotchy from crying, and the whites of her eyes looked painfully pink.

“Despite what you think of me, I’m not a complete douchebag,” Dean replied and stepped inside.

Her pert lips pressed together, and the tips of her carefully plucked eyebrows almost touched. “You could have fooled me.”

Suddenly, the inkling of sympathy he had been feeling for her vanished. “Jesus, Bela.” He twisted around and strode back to the door.

“I have feelings too you know.” Her voice cut across the room. Dean paused and half-turned, his face showed complete disbelief. She frowned and used the end of the bed to push herself to her feet. “I have feelings, and hopes and dreams, just like everyone else.” Dean turned the rest of the way around to face her. “Tonight,” she licked her bottom lip, “when they read Ruby’s name instead of mine, my dreams were crushed.” A slow tear dripped down her cheek.

Pity snuck up on him. “I’m sorry you didn’t get what you want, Bela. I truly am. I wish we all could be winners. But life doesn’t work that way.”

She sniffed. “I’m far more talented than both Ruby and your brother.”

Dean wanted to argue that she was wrong, but he knew that it didn’t matter with her. Bela lived in her own world with her own rules.  “Maybe you would have stuck around longer if you were nicer to people.” _Maybe you would have gotten better press. Looks and talent don’t get you everywhere. _

She looked affronted. “How dare you?” She came forward, and for a moment Dean thought she was going attack him, but she deflated after three steps. When she spoke next, the grief was back, and her voice was soft. “You have no idea what I’ve been through. What my life’s been like.”

It was hard for Dean to imagine past rich parents, private schools, and the best of everything. But there was something dark and secretive behind the pretentiousness of her gaze. It was a look worn by only those who have suffered something evil in their lives. He saw that look whenever he glanced in a mirror or in his brother’s eyes.

Still…. “You’re right I don’t know what you’ve been through.” Surprise fluttered across her face at Dean’s admission. “But whose fault is that?”

Her mouth dropped open, and something that appeared to be shame flushed her cheeks. Dean took in her pretty face, open suitcase and defeated posture. He made a decision.

“Dean,” she called out when he turned his back on her again and moved towards the door. He didn’t stop. “Dean,” she cried again.

“Good luck, Bela.” The door clicked shut behind him. He never looked back.

~//~

“So down to the final three,” Ruby said over her bowl of fruit salad. She stabbed her fork through an orange wedge and popped it into her mouth.

“It’s kind of crazy, isn’t it?” Sam asked, shaking his head, sounding somewhat awed. Dean pulled his attention away from his sausage and ham pizza and glanced at Sam.

“Dude, we’re good, so we made it to the top. End of story.”

Ruby eyed him but said nothing. Sam rested his elbows on the table and said, “No, that’s not all. There were lots of talented people competing with us. It wasn’t just our talent.”

Dean gave a curt nod and remained silent. It what he’d been thinking since Ash left.  He ran his forefinger around the edge of the table and asked, “Why do you think we’ve made it so far?”

Sam’s eyebrows hunch, like he’s truly contemplating the question, but it was Ruby who answered first. “Talent, the right song choices, looks.” Sam gave her a sideways look, and she just snorted and said, “Don’t pretend yours and Dean’s pretty faces had nothing to do with getting you this far.”

Sam looked his way. Dean just shrugged. He’d never denied that looks had a part in this competition. 

“People are interested in us. They want to see us on television, to learn more about our pasts. That’s why we’re still here. Why they keep voting for us week after week.”

Dean thought, _People are interested in Sammy and me. Not you. They only want to know about you, because you’re dating my brother.  _Aloud he said, “I guess.”

Ruby’s chair scratched across the kitchen floor as she stood and took her bowl to the sink. “You ready to go?” she asked Sam.

Sam nodded, “Yeah.”

“Where are you going?” Dean frowned. He hadn’t known they were going out.

“We’re driving down to San Diego and spending the night. They’re filming me there performing at city hall tomorrow.”

Dean stood. “Dude, you promised me you’d go over my songs with me today.”

Sam looked down. “I know, but can’t we do that when I get back? I’ll only be gone until tomorrow night. The show is still four days away.”

 “And then it will be two,” Dean growled.

“Dean. Come on. I’m sorry I made double plans, but you don’t really need my help.”

Anger bubbled inside him. Dean looked from his brother’s guilty but pleading face to Ruby’s smirking smile. “Just go.” He waved his hand.

“Thanks. I owe you.” Sam came up and slapped him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, thanks Dean. I didn’t mean to take Sam away from you.” She smiled at him, but Dean saw right through it.

 _Yeah, you really didn’t mean to take him away, _Dean thought furiously. _Fucking bitch.  _

~//~

Dean spent the next two days alternating between sulking inside stuffing his face with pizza and driving around pissed off in the Impala. It seemed that the paparazzi had nailed his car, because every time he left the mansion he found himself being tailed in a matter of seconds. No matter what turns he took or back roads he drove down, those mosquitoes would appear, hungry with their cameras. Finally, he gave up going into the outside world, and settled himself inside. When Sam and Ruby came back from San Diego, Dean spent a good portion of his time giving the duo heated looks. It made him feel somewhat better. 

Saturday night, only four hours after Sam and Ruby returned, Dean got a phone call from Bobby. “I’m going to take this upstairs,” he told Sam. His brother’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but Dean ignored it and trucked upstairs to their bedroom. The bedroom was empty, if slightly rumpled looking from unmade beds and thrown about clothes- all Sam, dude, all Sam. The attached bathroom door was cracked an inch and the lights shone through. _Stupid Sam, always forgetting to turn off the lights when he leaves a room, _Dean thought with a shake of his head. For all Sammy was about saving the world and doing their part to help the environment- recycling and shit- that boy kept the lights on everywhere they went.

Dean brought the phone to his ear. “Hey Bobby. Sorry about the wait. I wanted to talk to you in private.”

“It’s fine,” Bobby said gruffly, and Dean immediately went on guard.

“What’s wrong?”

There was a momentary pause, Dean imagined Bobby’s sorrowful gaze aimed at the phone, and then Bobby said, “I’m sorry to always be calling you with nothing but bad news.” Dean released a whoosh of air, and suddenly it seemed that he could barely breathe. “Your Daddy’s been spotted.”

Dean nodded then realized Bobby couldn’t see him. “Okay.”

Bobby continued like Dean hadn’t said anything. “He was arrested yesterday afternoon by the Stanford police.”

“Jesus.” Dean’s head went fuzzy, and he thought, _I’d better sit down. _He took a few fumbling steps towards the bed, and as soon as his knees brushed against the blue sheets his knees became weak. He would have fallen face first into the mattress if his arm hadn’t automatically snuck out to catch him. Gulping in air, Dean gingerly turned his body around and sat, letting the bed take his weight. “Stanford.”

“He was there looking for you and Sam.”

“What happened?”

“He attacked one of Sam’s old professors. Claimed the man was helping hide ‘em.”

_Fuck. _

“He didn’t do more than give the man a split lip, but the police came and took him into custody.”

Dean’s palm was sweaty, and the phone slipped around in his palm. “So Dad’s at the police station? Did he mention anything about us?”

“I don’t think so, but, Dean, he’s not there anymore.”

“What!” _How the fuck could Dad escape from the police that quickly?_

“He cracked the skull of one of the officers watching him, and he killed the other one. Drowned him in the sink. Then he ran for it.”

The world went white, and Dean closed his eyes to shut it all out. He could hear Bobby’s heavy breathing across the line. Hell, he could even hear Sam scuttling around down in the kitchen. It sounded like he was putting away dishes. “He killed someone?” The words were whispered, like if Dean didn’t say them at full volume, they weren’t true.

“Dropped a rosary into the clogged sink first and dunked the man inside. Claimed he was exorcising the demon inside the man.” 

“Do I,” Dean stopped and licked his lips. “Do I need go looking for him?”The American Idol stage flashed before his eyes, the screaming, enthusiastic audience, and the pure adrenaline he felt when he was up there. The enjoyment he felt. Then Sammy and Dad overlapped the image. Dean knew what was more important.

“Hell no!” Bobby shouted. “Dean, don’t make it easier for that man to find you. He might love you in his own twisted way, but he’s poison. Stay where you are and finish your damn competition.”

“Yeah, okay.” The hand clenched around his heart didn’t loosen any with Bobby’s words. If anything, it made Dean feel guilty.  “Thanks for letting me know, Bobby.”

Bobby sighed. “Boy, I’m sorry this is happening. I know you and your brother should be focusing on your lives right now.”

“Just me Bobby. I haven’t told Sam yet.”

“Dean…”

“He doesn’t need to know. He’ll just worry.”

“This involves your brother just as much as it does you. You need to tell him,” Bobby demanded.

“I’ll tell him when this is all over. When he doesn’t need to focus on this competition any more.”

There was a pause, and Dean knew that Bobby wanted to say more. Instead, the man said, “It’s your decision. I’m not going to say anything to him.”

“Thanks.”

Bobby cleared his throat and said, “Be careful, boy. John is on the hunt for you and your brother. And you guys aren’t exactly inconspicuous right now. Just keep your eyes open.”

Dean pressed his thumb and forefinger into his closed eyelids. The pressure made dots appear. It was a momentary distraction. “I always do Bobby. I always do.”

“I’ll see you next week.”

“Sammy and I look forward to seeing you. Take care.”

“Bye.”

There was a click and the dial tone quickly followed. Bobby was never one for long, drawn out goodbyes. Dean took in a long gulp of air and tried to calm his pounding chest. _Jesus Dad. _Muscles all over his body ached, like he had just completed an extreme workout. He shoved his cell phone in his pocket and pulled his other hand away from his eyes.

The sun had set during his phone call, and the only light in the room came from the hidden glow behind the bathroom door. Dean forced himself up and made his way towards the light, planning to splash his face with cold water. With his palm flat against the smooth wood, the door swung open. There was Ruby.

Rage pumped through his heart and pounded through his veins. “What the hell are you doing?” Dean growled.

Dean cut her off. “Were you listening to my conversation? How dare you!”

“Hey, I heard yelling. Is everything alright?” Sam’s voice was shortly followed by his body.

“She was listening in to my private conversation,” Dean barked at Sam.

“I didn’t mean to!” Ruby exclaimed. “I was just looking for some of your hair gel.” She pleaded to Sam.

“Yeah, well, you could have made yourself known as soon as I came in. I obviously was on the phone!”

Sam glanced between his girlfriend and brother. He looked at Ruby. “Were you listening to his conversation?”

She started, like she couldn’t believe Sam wasn’t immediately taking her side and said, “You brother was talking about your Dad. He said something about him killing someone at Stanford.” She batted her eyelashes. “Sam, I thought your Dad was dead.”

Sam’s expression rolled from surprised, to anger to a terrifying blankness in a matter of seconds. “What’s going on, Dean.” His voice was deadly low.

Dean swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and glanced at Ruby. “Not in front of her.”

Sam took a single step forward. “What’s going on, Dean,” he said again.

His fingers curled into fists, and Dean took a shaky breath. “Dad’s out of the institution. He got out a few weeks back. Apparently he was arrested in Stanford yesterday, but escaped custody. He killed someone.” Dean tried not to let the fear he felt show through his voice. 

Sam gaze stuttered to the floor. He didn’t look up when he asked, “How long have you known, Dean.”

“Sammy…”

“How long Dean?” he shouted.

Sam’s eyes snapped up, and Dean was blown away by the anger he saw within them. _Sammy’s never that angry. _“Bobby told me about a month ago.”

Sam’s hands tightened into fists. Ruby was completely still. Dean felt as if his breaths echoed like thunder storms across the bedroom. Sam said, “I knew you were keeping something from me. I knew it, Dean. When I asked you about it, you told me everything was fine. Everything is not fine.”

“Sammy, I’m sorry…”

Sam raised a hand. “Stop. I can’t talk to you right now.” His eyes flickered over to Ruby. She reached out and wrapped her hand around Sam’s forearm.

Dean snapped. “This is about her. She’s ruining us! Can’t you see that?”

Sam’s face clouded with anger. “This isn’t about Ruby, Dean. This is about you trying to protect me. I’m a grown man. I don’t need your protection anymore.” Dean stumbled back. “This is about you not telling me the truth. About thinking you need to do everything. I am capable too, Dean.”

“Well it’s kind of hard to include you in things when you’re gone all the time,” Dean shouted. “When did a girl ever come between us before, Sammy? When? We’re brothers.”

Sam’s chest heaved, and he threw up his arms. “Grow up, Dean.” Sam couldn’t seem to take anymore. He strode out of the bedroom, Ruby hot on his heels. Dean heard them trek down the steps. He heard the slam of the front door.

When the rattling stopped, the house became silent. Dean’s knees trembled, and suddenly, he was sinking into the carpet, taking in huge, sobbing gulps of air. It felt like his world had just imploded.

~//~

They avoided each other. By the time Tuesday rolled around, Dean had seen his brother twice. Once when Kim called on the house phone for their weekly check-in, and the other time was in the hallway after Sam had taken all of his things out of their shared room. Dean figured he had moved in with Ruby. He didn’t look to find out.

Dean was angry. He was pissed off at Sam for being such a douchebag. He outright hated Ruby for clouding his brother’s mind with her feminine charms. He was furious at Dad for ruining their lives. Most of all he was angry at himself for screwing everything up. So he channeled all of the negative energy into his upcoming performances.

The judges had picked a Bon Jovi song for him to sing. Dean had been pleasantly surprised when he had been given _Blaze of Glory; _he had to admit the judges knew what they were talking about. He had changed his other song four times before settling. Finding out past American Idol contestants hits hadn’t been too difficult, even though Sam had taken his laptop with him in the split. What had been hard was deciding which hit fit his style and vocal range.

Tonight, he was going on first, singing his American Idol contestant song. Ruby was on second, and Sam third. _Not surprised that bitch is between us, _Dean thought snidely as he adjusted the collar of his jean jacket. His guitar hung loosely at his side. He was waiting for Seacrest to begin, and his cue to walk on stage.

The short buzzing cue rang, and the nearest PA waved him on stage. The crowded was cheering, but Dean didn’t feel his usual buzz. He was too angry. He walked past Seacrest, ignoring the crowd, ignoring the judges and took his place behind the microphone stand.

He let his thumb brush down the strings of his guitar. Tonight he was going acoustic. Tonight he was playing alone on stage. Just his voice and guitar. It fit his mood.

“_Remember all the things we wanted. Now all our memories they're haunted. We were always meant to say goodbye.” _He sang slowly, letting each word glide from his lips. His eyes were closed. He let the lyrics, and the rhythm of the guitar sink into his soul. “_Even with our fists held high. It never would've worked out right. We were never meant for do or die.”_

The noise of the audience drifted away. Hell, Dean could have been singing in an empty room for all that he paid attention. _“I didn't want us to burn out. I didn't come here to hold you, now I can't stop.” _Sam’s face, his grin, and his frown, drifted behind his closed lids. “_I want you to know that it doesn't matter. Where we take this road someone's gotta go, and I want you to know you couldn't have loved me better. But I want you to move on so I'm already gone.”_

The words were hard to sing. _“Looking at you makes it harder, but I know that you'll find another. That doesn't always make you want to cry. Started with a perfect kiss then we could feel the poison set in. Perfect couldn't keep this love alive. You know that I love you so, I love you enough to let you go.”_ Dean had first heard the song, Kelly Clarkson’s _Already Gone, _only two days prior, but it only took hearing it once to know he wanted to perform it. The lyrics weren’t a perfect fit, but the tone and meaning behind the song felt perfect.

“_I want you to know that it doesn't matter. Where we take this road someone's gotta go, and I want you to know you couldn't have loved me better. But I want you to move on so I'm already gone. I'm already gone, already gone. You can't make it feel right when you know that it's wrong. I'm already gone, already gone. There's no moving on so I'm already gone.”_

Despite learning the guitar parts so quickly, Dean’s fingers moved surely. He felt like he’d known this song his whole life. “_Already gone, already gone, already gone. Already gone, already gone, already gone, yeah. Remember all the things we wanted. Now all our memories they're haunted. We were always meant to say goodbye_.”

 Dean remembered when Sam declared he wanted to go to Stanford. He remembered Sam’s fight with Dad and the resulting breakdown of their father. Dean remembered checking Dad into the psych ward in Lawrence. He remembered moving to Stanford with Sammy. Remembering telling Cassie goodbye._ “I want you to know that it doesn't matter. Where we take this road someone's gotta go, and I want you to know you couldn't have loved me better. But I want you to move on so I'm already gone. I'm already gone, already gone. You can't make it feel right when you know that it's wrong. I'm already gone, already gone. There's no moving on so I'm already gone.”_

He didn’t open his eyes right away. He was caught up in the past. It was only when the sharp, musky scent of Ryan Seacrest’s cologne brushed under his nose that Dean snapped back to the present. The roar of the crowd washed over him like a tidal wave, swift and powerful. His lids drifted open lazily, mimicking his waking moments. And as Dean took in the cheer crowd and the judges smiling faces he realized his anger was gone.

“Dean,” Kara began the night, “that was beautiful.” She’d got a sappy look on her face, like someone had given her a present. “You are just,” she paused and pressed her fingers together, seemingly searching for words. “You are perfect.”

Dean laughed and shook his head. _I’m far from perfect. _Aloud, he leaned forward until his mouth was half an inch from the mic and said, “thanks.”   

Randy went next, and he repeated Kara’s statement. “Dean my man, that _was _beautiful. It’s not often that I give a man credit for singing a female’s song. Many men can’t pull it off. You did. You’re performance left my heart clenching.”

Seacrest came over cupped his hand over Dean’s shoulder. The Winchester gave the man a look that screamed, _Uh, no_,_, _but Seacrest didn’t seem to care. He just smiled at Dean and the audience.

When the camera’s panned to Paula she was wiping her fingers under her eyes. “Dean,” she said, her voice heavy with tearful emotion, “I felt the sorrow behind that song. It really touched me.”

Dean smiled, but he privately thought, _Dude, we’re on live tv. You’re sounding a little stoned my girl._

Simon, as usual, went last. “Dean I’ve been saying this all along, but tonight really brought it home for me. You are the real deal. Whether you win this competition or not, you are going to have a music career. You are going to have a career that goes down in history. One that’s all about music.” 

Dean’s mouth popped open, and he suddenly felt out of breath. Bracing one hand on his guitar and the other on the mic, Dean replied, “Wow, that’s some compliment. Thank you. I really appreciate that.” Simon sent a curt nod in his direction, and the little cue buzzer went off, reminding him his time on stage was over. He waved to the audience, blew some of the closer girls a kiss, and walked off stage.

Sammy and Ruby were sitting side-by-side on the couch, and seeing them wiped Dean’s smile right off his face. Dean took a seat on the back couch, on the far side of the duo. Ruby slid off the seat to follow the PA out to the stage. The door to the lounge snapped shut, and Sam glanced back at Dean.

“Good job.” The words weren’t anything spectacular, nor were they said with great enthusiasm, but they were spoken by Sam and directed towards Dean.

Dean’s lips pulled up in a half-smile. “Thanks. You’ll kick their ass with _The Real Thing_.”

Sam nodded, like Dean had just told him the weather for tomorrow. Ruby began to sing and Sam’s attention floated to the screen in the room. Dean took a deep breath and swallowed down his pride, “She’s pretty good.”

“She is.” Sam’s voice held affection, and for the first time Dean truly realized how much Sam liked Ruby.

“I just want you to be happy, Sam.”

“I know,” Sam replied with a sigh. He twisted in his seat to look Dean in the eye. “I know, Dean.”


	16. The Grand Finale

_Here we are folks. At the end. It’s been a trying, exciting season- one that will go down in history as one of the best. We have one more set of performances, one more chance to vote. So watch; dial in your favorite. Let’s make an American Idol. _

~//~

Dean spent Tuesday night alone. It was a night filled with contemplation and worry. Thoughts flickered through his head like a text across a screen. _Who’s going home tomorrow? Where the hell is Dad? How can I make things up to Sammy? _It was strange for him to think that tomorrow (or today depending on what time Dean glanced at the clock) that either he, his brother or his brother’s girlfriend were going home. It was strange to think the competition was almost over. _One more week. _

After Dean finally yanked his body from bed sometime around noon, the rest of the afternoon was spent catching up on his car magazines, hustling to the theater, chatting up some of Sammy’s college friends, and then getting ready for the results show. The whole process seemed appallingly slow, and by the time the contestants were being jostled on stage (after the awesome performances by Kelly Clarkson and Kris Allen, Dean must add) for the actual reveal, Dean wished everyone would just get on with it.

Seacrest held his cue cards a little higher and said, “Sam Winchester you are safe. Congratulations you are going on to compete in the finale.” Sam let out a huge whoosh of air, but Dean noticed the tension didn’t leave his brother’s shoulders.

Ruby reached up and pecked Sam on the cheek. The crowd twittered. He smiled down at her and gave her hand another squeeze. As soon as Sam dropped her hand, Dean couldn’t resist touching his brother’s arm and pulling him in for a loose, one armed hug. Sam hesitated for a second, like he was surprised by Dean’s actions, but then his own arms came around Dean’s broad shoulders.  Dean felt Sam’s rapidly beating heart against his chest. A line of sweat marred his brother’s brow, and as Dean was pulling out of the hug, he said, “Dude, you need a shower.”

They were still close enough that Sam’s laugh vibrated against his skin. It might have been the best feeling in the world. “You’re a little ripe yourself,” Sam shot back. Humor shone from the dimples in his cheeks and the crinkles near his eyes.

Hope blossomed in Dean’s chest, and he thought, _I’ve still got Sam. Even if Ruby moves forward tonight, I’ve got Sam. _The drum rolled overhead again, and Sam hurried to the safety of the black leather couch.  Seacrest shifted from one foot to the next, and a flash of angry heat scorched Dean’s spine. _If that fucker says we have to go to commercial I’m going fucking murder him. _

“Dean. Ruby,” the host said while he nodded to each contestant in turn. “It has been a long journey for both of you.” Ruby gave Seacrest a curt nod and clasped her fingers together. Dean made half moon imprints into the flesh of his palms. “Unfortunately, only one of you can move on.” The white spotlight beamed harshly down on Dean, and he wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. “Between the two of you, twenty-five million votes were cast. One of you has beaten out the other by only five thousand votes.”

Seacrest paused and looked between them again, and the back at the camera. The judges were shifting in their seats, and the audience members were endlessly restless. Dean’s heart pounded loudly in his ears, and when Seacrest announced who moved on, he thought he’d heard wrong. Seacrest said it again, this time accompanying the words with a slap on his shoulder. “Dean Winchester, you are moving on with your brother. Congratulations. Ruby, I’m sorry to say tonight is your last night.”

Dean still wasn’t sure he’d heard right. He looked around the theater. People were out of their seats screaming, like there was a fire or something. All of the judges were clapping. He looked over his shoulder to Sam. His brother was out of his seat, striding towards him. Sam’s hand clasped his shoulder, the same one Seacrest had slapped, and then Sam was returning his earlier hug.

As soon as Sam’s released him, Dean was turning to look at Ruby. She wasn’t crying. No, there was no sadness in her eyes, only anger. Cold fury burned bright in her gaze, and her lips were pulled so tight that Dean knew her jaw must be hurting. Her eyes bored into his, and Dean took an unconscious step back. As if the world was moving in slow motion, Dean watched Sam reach out one of his long arms and curl it around the curve of her shoulders.

Dean thought she’d take the comfort. He was wrong. Like Sam’s touch was acid, Ruby flinched from his attempted embrace and shuffled away. Sam’s face morphed from sorrow to confusion. Questions began to swirl in Dean’s mind, but he didn’t get to ask them, because Seacrest was handing Ruby the microphone, and the music to her last song began to play. Like all exiting contestants, she was required to sing in her last moments.

She marched forward, expression stiff, and sang. Dean tugged on Sam’s sleeve urging him closer to the left of the stage, away from Ruby. They’d have to wait for the show to end to figure this out.

~//~

Back stage was chaotic. PAs were running around, shouting at each other through their blackberries confirming and denying directions, rumors, and everything in between. Ruby had stormed off stage the second she was allowed, and while Sam and Dean were hot on her heels, they had lost her in the shuffle of people. Dean could see Paula and Simon talking to some reporter with a camera down the hall that led to the judge’s dressing rooms. Seacrest was chatting animatedly on his iPhone, hands moving widely. It was loud, crowded, and hot.

“There she is!” Sam declared from somewhere to Dean’s right. Dean whirled around to see his brother pushing his way through the masses. Dean couldn’t see Ruby, but he also didn’t have his brother’s height. He followed. “Ruby,” Sam yelled. More than a few heads turned his ways, but Sam ignored them and pressed on. 

Sam caught up to her a dozen feet from the bathrooms. Dean caught the tail end of her reply, “…lost Sam!” He was breathing hard by the time he closed in their little triangle. Ruby scowled at him and said, “I’m especially not talking to you with him here!”

“Dean,” Sam pleaded.

“Dude, I’m so not leaving.”  _I want to know what’s going on too. _

In jerky movements she crossed her arms and tried to push her was past Sam. He blocked her way. She exploded. “I don’t want to fucking talk to either of you. You got you special little wish. Winchester brothers until the end.” Her eyes flared.

“Ruby, you know I…”

“Shut up Sam! I don’t care what you think.” More and more people were stopping and turning their attention to the three of them.

Dean made a split decision. “Come on,” he growled and grabbed Ruby’s arm and dragged her into the women’s restroom. _I can imagine the headlines now. ‘Dean Winchester abuses his brother’s girlfriend.’ _He really didn’t care.

The moment they were in the restroom- thankfully vacant- he dropped her arm. She immediately headed for the door, but was stopped as Sam came barreling in.  The youngest Winchester wasted no time. “Ruby, please talk to me. I’m sorry you didn’t win, but that doesn’t mean everything is over.” Dean watched as his brother held out his arms, like he expected Ruby to come cuddling over.

She gave an angry snort and pressed the pads of her palms into her eyes. Dean thought she had started to cry, but when she dropped her hands her eyes were red but dry. “You just don’t get it Sam,” she said with a coarse laugh. “Everything I’ve had to do, everything I’ve had to give up to get this far, it’s all gone to waste.” In a smaller voice she added, “I really thought I was going to win.”

Sorrow crashed over Sam’s face and he practically leapt forward, attempting to comfort her. She shrugged him off again. “Don’t touch me.” 

“Ruby,” he pleaded.

“No,” she said shaking her head. Her eyes glued to Sam and in a cold voice she said, “I don’t want you anymore. Not as a boyfriend. Not even as a friend.”

Pain tore through Sam’s eyes and Dean took a step forward, ready to take on Ruby. Sam jerked his head ‘no’ and Dean stopped. “I don’t understand.” Sam’s voice was thick with bewilderment.

She let out another harsh laugh and said, “Don’t worry. You’ll find someone else.” Dean doesn’t think the words are meant to be comforting.

The answer didn’t appease Sam. Hell, it didn’t appease Dean, and Sam’s confusion turned to anger. “So that’s it? You’re giving up on our relationship just because you didn’t win some contest? Ruby, American Idol isn’t forever. You can still get a music contract when this is over.”

She shook her head, like Sam was an idiot. “I know I’ll get a music contract when this is over. I know I’m talented, Sam.”

Something clicked. In an instant, Dean got it. “She’s been using you,” he snarled. “She never really cared about you, Sammy. She was just using you to get into the press.”

Sam blinked at Dean as if he was speaking a foreign language. Dean willed his brother to understand. Sam swallowed hard and turned back to Ruby. She spoke, “The beloved Winchester brothers. From the beginning you two have been everybody’s favorites. Handsome, mysterious, talented. I’ve known from the start both of you would make it to the top.” Her voice was bitter. “I figured if I could attach myself to one of you, the public would keep me around longer. I figured if only I could make it to the end, I’d have a chance at winning. The longer I was around the more people could see how talented I am.” She shook her head, like her plan was doomed from the start. She crossed her arms again and focused back in on Sam.

“You were the easier of the two,” she said with a wry smile. “You’re the only permanent person in Dean’s life. He can’t commit to anyone else. It’s not in him.” She stepped forward and laid her palm flat against Sam’s chest. “But you, Sammy, you’re just begging for a serious relationship. You want someone to love, someone outside your family’s dramatic history. You want to be outside of your brother’s shadow.” She laughed again. “Sam, you’re not in Dean’s shadow. He’s in yours.” 

Sam stumbled back like her touch burned. His chest heaved, and for a moment Dean swore his brother was going to punch her.  _If he doesn’t, I will. _

“Leave, Ruby,” Sam warned. “Before I do something I might regret.”

Something that looked like fear shuddered across her eyes. She wasted no time. Her body brushed between the two men- both gave her enough space not to touch- and then the bathroom door was swinging shut behind her. Sam’s eyes were dark, his whole body tense with hurt anger. Dean wanted to say something, anything to make it better. He opened his mouth only to close it again. There was nothing to say. No words that could make it better.

With only heavy breathing echoing against the walls, Dean could hear the hustle from beyond the closed door. He didn’t turn to look. A million dollars couldn’t have torn his gaze from Sam’s wounded expression. Worry, betrayal, frustration swirled around in his own chest like mixed paint. It hurt watching his brother. Finally, Dean called out, “Sam.”

The word seemed to knock something loose inside the youngest Winchester, for in the next second Sam body softened, and he twisted towards his brother. “Dean.” The name tore from Sam’s throat, and then Dean was at his brother’s side, arms around his waist, supporting his weight. Together they slid to the hard, tile floor. Sam turned his face into Dean’s shoulder and buried his hands into Dean’s t-shirt.

“How…” Sam choked out.

“You didn’t know Sam. I didn’t know. She played everyone.”

Dean clutched his brother, feeling useless, and Sam struggled to contain his feelings. Minutes passed, then Sam pulled back and stared at Dean. “I’m sorry,” he said. His voice sounded hoarse, like the time he’d spent two weeks in bed with strep throat.

Dean ran his hand down the back of Sam’s head and said, “It’s okay, Sammy. It’s okay. Everything will be all right; I promise.” 

~//~

The following week was uncomfortable, to say the least. Dean tried to draw Sam out of his depressed funk, but nothing worked. Sam didn’t want to drive around and make fun of star homes. Dean even offered his little brother the keys to the Impala. Sam turned down the offer. The youngest Winchester didn’t want to eat ‘The World’s Best Hamburger’ from that diner on the corner of First and McNeal. Sam just spent most of his days curled up in his bed reading books like _Crime and Punishment _and _Catch-22_.

With Sam quiet and moping, Dean basically had the mansion to himself. All the empty, silent space made his skin itch. Dean longed for tiny motel rooms of their youth. _Seeing some ugly flower-print wallpaper and a busted mini-tv sounds good right about now. _Hell, Dean would settle for the shitty apartment they shared at Stanford- pretentious college neighbors and all.

He tried to practice his songs for the upcoming week, but even that lost its appeal. Both he and Sam had to sing this douchey song written for the American Idol winner. It was called _Remember Me, _and while it strived to be a melodic rock song, it fell short. _A bad fucking ballad is what it is, _Dean grumbled to himself as he read over the lyrics once more. _Makes me glad I won’t ever have to sing it more than once._ A benefit of losing.

They also had to sing one of their past songs- they could choose any- and a song of their choice. Dean had decided to go with _Renegade _ashis song of choice. _The song that began this whole shebang. _And as his repeat song he was going with his favorite, _Ramble On. _Nothing beat Led Zeppelin. Dean knew that Sam had chosen _Smooth _as his repeat song. He wasn’t sure what (or if) his brother had decided as his song of choice. _Probably some mopey love song. U2 or some such bullshit. _

On the Saturday afternoon Kim came over and handed them two plane tickets to Stanford. “You’ll both be performing tomorrow morning for the university.” She glanced at her Blackberry. “Apparently tickets to the stadium have already been sold out.” A manila folder was pulled from her giant black tote and shoved towards Dean. “There’s a copy of the itinerary for each of you.” That said, she gave them each an air kiss and left.

“So, let’s go pack the car and get driving.”

“Dean, we can just leave tomorrow. The plane ride will only take an hour.”

“Dude, we’re driving. End of story,” Dean replied.

“It’s not a fear,” Dean defended. “It’s logic. If people were meant to fly then they would have been born with wings. Besides,” he reached out and slugged Sam on the shoulder, “road trip.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine, but I get to do some of the driving.”

Dean pretended to think about it. “Deal.” He stuck out his hand, and Sam slapped their palms together.

~//~

They arrived at the university close to two am, about ten hours before they had to perform. One of Sam’s friends, Becky, was kind enough to let them stay with her, since Kim hadn’t planned for an overnight stay. Their old apartment had been a month-by-month lease, and when they had moved into the mansion, they had let the lease expire. Dean didn’t mind. The old places smelled like mildew, and the upstairs neighbors always had really loud sex.

Dean drove the Impala through the campus, letting Sammy point out buildings for old classes and funny memories. Even though Stanford was just as snooty as Dean remembered, being there seemed to improve Sam’s mood considerably. He chatted animatedly about past happenings. Dean couldn’t help smiling at his brother’s enthusiasm. _This isn’t going to be as bad as I thought. _   

The campus was still immaculately kept- trees and bushes perfectly shaped and buildings grime free, displaying the Spanish influenced red roof tiles and peach-white stone walls. They were performing at Foster Field. A long stage had been set up in the middle of the stadium. By the time they were ushered into the back by school security it was packed. Dean could physically feel their excitement.

Dr. John L. Hennessy, the university’s president, greeted them in the locker room where they stood before going outside. Dean vaguely remember the man giving some sort of welcoming speech to new students when he accompanied Sam to freshman orientation, but he couldn’t be sure, since he’d spent the majority of that time checking out hot chicks and napping. Sam, however, was beside himself with excitement at meeting the man. After the president had left to greet the crowd Sam couldn’t stop looking dopey and saying, “That was Dr. Hennessy. Dean, he knows who I am.”

_You would have thought that old geezer was Kurt Cobain or something, _Dean snorted to himself.

The American Idol producers had sent four camera crews and six PAs to help run things. Two of the cameras were set up on the field, one in back of the stage and one in front of it. The other two cameras were hoisted over the shoulders of two men, both recognizable from their time filming in the mansion, who followed Sam and Dean like eager puppies waiting for a treat. Besides the American Idol camera crews, dozens of other crews circled the stage like vultures. CNN, NBC, CBS, FOX- all the news stations, local and national, were represented. Off duty cops roamed the stadium in hoards. _You’d think the President of the United States was here, _Dean thought as they walked the short distance from the football entrance to out on the field.

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Sam, who was only a few inches away, shouted something to him, but Dean couldn’t hear. He shrugged at his brother, and Sam just wrinkled his nose and pouted. _Such a girl. _ One of the Stanford employees guided them onstage, and President Hennessey leaned into the mic and said, “Now let me get off the stage and hand it over to the ones you’ve all been waiting for. Let’s give it up for our own Sam and Dean Winchester!”

Dean barely had time to think, _I never went here, _before Sam was taking the microphone and addressing the crowd. “Thank you for welcoming us back,” he began. The crowd screamed so loud that he had to stop and wait. Dean smirked and gave a wide wave to the crazed fans. When it was finally quiet enough to be heard, Sam said, “Thank you for supporting my brother and me on our American Idol journey. It has been challenging, but seeing your smiling faces makes everything worth it.” That set them off again. “We’re going to start off the day with a duet-  Chris Daughtry’s _There and Back Again._ Then we’re going to each sing a few songs of our own.”

Dean wandered back a few feet and picked up his guitar- so thoughtfully brought on stage earlier by a PA. Sam stayed at the mic, and Dennis, one of the American Idol percussionists, hit up the rhythm on drums. They played. A cycle of raw energy flowed through crowd, into him, and back out again. His nerves zinged, and Dean performed harder than he ever had before. The feeling was unbelievable.

In what seemed like a snap, the show was over. Sam wooed the crowd with _Smooth_, _Collide, _and _If I Can’t Have You. _Dean then went on to perform _Ramble On, September, _and_ Ironic. _ Before they left the field the President came back up and gave another short speech and a hearty thank you. They spent the rest of the day with Sammy’s old friends, drinking at Mandy, the hot waitress’s, bar and just generally having a good time.

Sunday morning dawned cloudless and sunny. They packed the car in sleepy silence and stopped at the local McDonald’s for coffee and egg McMuffins. As the campus became toy buildings in the rearview mirror, Sam rested his head against the window and said, “Despite everything that’s happened, I’m glad we did this.”

“Drive to Stanford?” Dean asked around his breakfast.

Sam softly snorted. “No, tried out for American Idol.”

Dean swallowed and licked his lips. He tapped his fingers against the leather steering wheel to music only he could hear. He thought about Ruby, and Meg, and Gordon. He thought about Ash, and Andy, and Jo. He thought about the judges, and douchey Ryan Seacrest. He thought about his and Sam’s fights and the paparazzi. He thought about the wild crowds and cracky song choices. He said,  “Yeah, me too.”




~//~

Somehow, Dean forgot that the finale would bring back past contestants. “Dude!” he called out when he walked into theater bright and early Monday morning, and Ash was standing right there.

“Dude!” Ash yelled back. Then suddenly Dean had his arms full of the eighties reject.

“Hey loser,” Jo called out, and then Dean was hugging her too. Everyone was there. People he wanted to see- Andy, Jake, Ava, even Sarah. And people he would have been happy if they’d stayed gone- Bela, Ruby, Meg. Gordon was the only one missing, and Dean figured he was in a jail cell somewhere or possibly on the run. Neither would surprise him.

Apparently the final results show on Wednesday was this big hoodoo that involved performances by the top ten contestants and famous people. Unfortunately, since Gordon was gone, Meg had moved up a notch and was now in tenth place. _That means she’s going on tour with you, _Dean’s brain added helpfully. _Shut up bitch, _he reprimanded himself. Luckily, both she and Ruby kept their distance. Bela wasn’t so smart, but Dean found himself better able to put up with her shit than Ruby or Meg’s.

All of Monday was spent rehearsing for Wednesday, and after everyone left around dinner time, Sam and Dean had to stay on to practice for Tuesday. “I’m tired,” Dean whined after the third time he’d sung _Renegade. _

Sam collapsed on the floor beside him. “Yeah.”

Dean laid back against the stage and thought, _Well, this is comfortable. Not. _Sam huffed besides him, and Dean shouted, “Can we go home yet?” He wasn’t sure who was listening, but he knew someone important was out there, and he’d get a response.

"Are your performances good enough for live television yet?” Kim’s bodiless voice floated from somewhere to his left.

 “Yes.”

 “Yes,” Sam echoed him.

 “Alrighty then. Go home.”

 Dean slapped the stage. “Thank God.”

 He and Sam crawled their way back to their feet. “Set your alarms for early. You need to be here at nine for practice.”

 “Bitch!” He wasn’t sure who said it the loudest- he or Sam.

~//~

By the time eight pm rolled around Tuesday night, Dean was beyond ready for everything to be over. “I’ve never been so tired in my whole life,” he told his brother as he slid on his jean jacket.

Sam patted down a stray piece of hair and said, “I know what you mean.” Together they walked to the lounge. “Just think, one more day and that’s it. One of us will be the next American Idol.”

_Dude, why pretend? We both know you’re winning. _The thought didn’t bother Dean. It never really had. _Sam deserves it._

Seacrest started the show, and the camera panned the audience. The top twenty four contestants sat in the first two rows on the left, and on the right… “Dude, look!”

“Bobby!” Sam exclaimed.

“I can’t believe he came!” Dean couldn’t mistake the happiness in Sam’s voice.

“I can’t believe he didn’t say hello before we began,” Dean grumbled playfully. Actually, Bobby had wanted to take them out to lunch before the show, but they were stuck rehearsing all day. _The life of a rock star, _Dean lamented.    

The thought was Dean’s last coherent one before the show was over, because between one breath and the next together he and Sammy had sung six songs, including the douchey _Remember Me_. His jacket was so sweat soaked that Dean thought he’d never get the smell out. _Febreeze or not. _The producers had shown these five minute clips of their ‘journey so far’ including, Dean’s slap-stick performance with those idiots Nick and Joe at the Hollywood tryouts along with Sammy and his current concert at the Stanford football field. _It has been a long, strange road,_ Dean admitted. Then they were finished. He and Sammy had done their best. It was up to the American public to cast their votes. Tomorrow the results would be revealed. _Thank God. _

Backstage, everyone, and Dean meant _everyone_, was coming up to congratulate Sam and him. News cameras (the ever present E! crew) were at every corner and every hallway. The PAs and producers were all there, pressing fakes kisses to their cheeks and shaking their hands. The other contestants, well some of them, were backstage laughing and whooping like students out for the summer. Andy patted his pocket suggestively and motioned to the bathroom. Dean just smiled and shook his head.

Even the judges were there to praise the brothers. “Dean, Sam, you both were wonderful!” Paula exclaimed. She pressed her small body into Dean’s for a hug, and for a minute all he could smell was sharp, flowery perfume and a hint of fruity shampoo. She kissed him on the cheek. _Dude, she so loves me. _He ignored the fact she gave Sammy the same treatment. Kara also came up and hugged them. Randy and Simon shook their hands with hearty grips. Seacrest gave each of them one of those so called ‘manly’ one armed half-hugs.   

Then Bobby was there. “Hey,” the man called out. Dean pushed his way past the judges.

“Bobby!” Then the man had his arms around Dean’s back.

“Damn, it’s good to see you, boy.” His breath curled around Dean’s ear, and his beard scratched roughly against’ Dean’s cheek. It felt amazing.

“You too, Bobby.” The older man released him, and the second they were apart Sam was moving into take Dean’s place.

“Bobby,” Sam said, echoing Dean.

“Sam, it’s good to see you're still together.”

Sam pulled out of the hug. “What do you mean?”

Bobby was blunt. “Heard you let a girl run you around.”

Sam had the decency to look ashamed. He bowed his head and said, “You’ve been reading that?”

“Seems the whole world’s been reading it.”

“Great,” Sam moaned.

Dean slapped him on the shoulder. “Ah, don’t worry about it. They’ll have something else to talk about tomorrow.”

“That’s right,” Bobby said voice full of humor, “everybody seems real excited about who’s winning. Apparently there are Sam girls and Dean girls rooting for each of you. You’ve been a hot topic on the internet.”

Dean chuckled. “Sam girls and Dean girls? Hear that Sammy? Dean girls.”

Sam bumped into his shoulder and rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“So, beer?” Bobby asked.

Dean looked his brother in the eye. Sam gave a small nod. He slapped Bobby on the back. “Beer.”

~//~

“Damn, this place is fancy,” Ash muttered as they all trucked into the restaurant.

_It sure is, _Dean thought. Lunch was at a sit-down restaurant called “Maurice’s-” _what a douchey name-_ in the middle of Beverly Hills. Tall palm trees stood like columns over the double-glass doors that served as the entrance. The outside of the bistro, for that was what it was- a menu full of wraps, and petite sandwiches and salads all costing thirty bucks a pop. _Fuck it. American Idol is paying for this, I’m eating a hundred dollars worth of food, _Dean thought as they were guided to a long table draped with pale blue tablecloths and surrounded by thin black chairs with swirly designs pressed into the elongated backs.

It took a minute for everyone to get situated. _That’s what happens when you have fourteen people. _Dean watched as Andy and Ash took the seats on either side of Ava. Meg and Ruby wisely sat as far from him and Sam as possible. Paula sat gingerly in the seat adjacent to him. _She so loves me. _Sam sat across from him next to her.

The waiter came by to take their drink orders and in minutes a glass of Dr. Pepper was being set in front of him.

“I’d like to make a toast,” Kara said, raising her glass. Sam picked up his drink, and Dean mirrored him.  “To all of you who have taken part in this competition, and to Sam and Dean, who have made it to the end.”

Everyone clunked their glasses together, and Jo said, “To the Winchesters!” Their name echoed across the table in good spirits. Conversation flowed, easy and lighthearted. Smiles were exchanged, and stories of the competition’s happenings were shared with the judges. Dean ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, to which Sam rolled his eyes. Everything was simple and comfortable.

Then a deep shout cut across the dining hall, causing every head in the place to turn. The hostess, a petite blonde thing, was struggling with a large man. The aggressor looked like he’d spent the better part of a month living on the street. His jaw was covered in an uneven, black beard. His thick locks hung in dirty clumps past his ears, and his black leather jacket and jeans were as equally dirty. “Let me through!” the man growled in a deep, sandpaper voice. Tight anger was easily identifiable in his tone.

Unease melted into fear as Dean recognized the man. Dread twisted its way around Dean’s heart and squeezed. His stomached turned, and suddenly he felt sick. _Jesus. Fuck. _

“Fuck.” Sam echoed his thoughts aloud. Dean’s brother pushed back his chair and made to stand.

Dean’s hand shot out and pushed down on Sam’s shoulder. “No. Stay here.” Dean’s chair scratched against the wood floor. His legs felt stiff, and his heart pounded in his ears. _Go, _he commanded himself. Keeping his back towards the table, Dean forced his body forward.

 “Who is that?” Dean heard Ava ask.

“Do you know that man?” Simon’s voice called out.

Dean wasn’t sure if they were talking to him or Sam. He didn’t turn to find out. He kept his eyes locked on the gruff man at the hostess stand. By the time Dean was in touching distance another two men, probably the managers, were there urging the man towards the door. Dean stopped them all with one word.

"Dad.” It was said quietly, but the petite hostess and the three men turned their attention to the eldest Winchester boy.

One of the managers, Clark by his nametag, said, “This man is your father? He can’t come in here dressed like that and acting like a loon.” 

Dean briefly met Clark’s eyes and replied, “It’s okay. I’ll take care of it.” Neither Clark nor the other two employees looked convinced. Dean added, “Seriously, just give us a few minutes of privacy.”

The two managers glanced at each other. Clark gave a slight nod to the other manager and the hostess, and the two people disappeared in an instant. “Please take your conversation out into our waiting room.” He nodded to the small enclosed space beyond the hostess’s stand. Dean nodded, wrapped his hand around his father’s arm and dragged him into the little room.

Dean dropped his grip the second they were alone. Dad raked his eyes down Dean’s body. Dean’s stomach flip-flopped. He wanted to look back into the dining room to see Sam, but he didn’t.

“Dean,” Dad groaned, like it physical hurt him to say his son’s name. The eldest Winchester took a step forward, his hand raised and lightly touched his son’s jaw. The man gave a sob and wrapped his big arms around Dean. Dean took the hug but didn’t reciprocate. “Dean,” John said again. “I’ve missed you.”

Behind the smell of grime, sweat, and whiskey, Dean could smell the slightly leathery scent of his father. At one point in his life Dean found the scent comforting. Now it just left him nervous and fearful. When Dad stepped out of the hug Dean asked, “Dad, what are you doing here?”

“Dean,” Dad started again, “I’m not angry at you anymore. I understand why you put me in that place. It wasn’t you.” Dad lifted his hand and placed it lightly on Dean’s shoulder. Dean thought it was supposed to be comforting. It was just heavy. “It’s all your brother’s fault.”

“What?” Dean moved backwards. His father’s swung back to his own side.

“I know you love your brother. Hell, I love him too.” John ran a hand through his hair. The motion was eerily reminiscent of Sam. “But he’s been manipulating you, manipulating me.” He took a step closer to Dean, and Dean took another step back. “You’re brother is the son of the devil. The Anti-Christ.”

_Jesus. _Sickness slid like slime down Dean’s throat and settled in his stomach. “Dad, Sam is not the Anti-Christ.”

A dark, pitying look seeped into John Winchester’s eyes. “I didn’t want to believe it either, but I’ve done the research. The Yellow Eyed Demon came into your brother’s nursery when he was a baby and bled into his mouth, turned him into a monster. Dean it’s your brother’s fault your mother was killed.”

Shock, then rage tore through Dean. “Shut up,” Dean shouted. 

Clark appeared in the frame of the door. “Is everything alright in here? Do I need to call the police?”

“No. He’s leaving,” Dean said stiffly.

Dad looked down, and for a moment Dean though he’d won. Then the man said, “I’m sorry, Dean,” and a fist came crashing into the side of his jaw.

From far away Dean heard the manager shout something, but throbbing pain clouded his ability to hear. Dean blinked, attempting to clear his vision. He raised his head and tried to find Dad. He caught the sight of the man’s black jacket heading inside. _He’s going for Sammy. _Ignoring the pain and fuzzy head Dean jolted forward. 

“Dad, stop!” Dean called out, but other than hunched shoulders the eldest Winchester kept moving. Dean started to run. His head swam and he bumped into an empty chair at one of the tables. People had begun to rise from their seats, some watching some and others pulling put their cell phones to call friends or take pictures.

John Winchester halted a few feet from his youngest son. Sam had risen from his seat. His face was thunderous. “You are not welcome here,” Sam growled at his father. “Leave.”

“You think you’re so smart,” Dad said. “You think you have everyone fooled. Not me. I know better.”

Dean clutched at the chair and shook his head. _Snap out of it._

Dad didn’t take his eyes off Sam, but his next words were obviously meant for the group at the table. “He’s the Anti-Christ. He’s going to bring the world into hell. Don’t trust anything he’s said.”

Dean imagined the stunned looks of his American Idol companions._ Probably feeling confused as fuck. _

“This is for your own good.”

At those words Dean’s gaze snapped up- _focus­­­- _and he saw his dad reach inside his jacket. Dark, hard metal gleamed. _Holy fuck. _Dean never moved so fast in his life. One second Sam was yelling, people were crying out in fear, and the next Dean had his father’s arm- the one gripping the gun- and he yanked hard. 

A flash of light, like the ignition of a sparkler, was followed by a deafening bang. White, hot pain seized his gut. It spread through his blood, through his limbs like fire until Dean’s whole world burned.

“Dean!” Sam called.

“OH GOD!” screamed a voice that sounded like Ava’s. Other voices chimed in, shouting their own exclamations of shock. The restaurant was in chaos. People were running out the door and cowering on the ground. Dozens of cries echoed across the room. Two police officers stormed in, and made a running beeline to John. Before they reached him the gun fell from his fingers and clattered to the ground. He didn't struggle as they slammed into him and forced him onto the tabletop. Cuffs were on the man in seconds.

“Dean, Dean,” Sam whispered while covering one of Dean’s hands with his own. “Hold on. An ambulance is on its way.”

Dean tried to lift is hand to pat his brother’s face, but he found he was so _tired_. Liquid filled his throat, and Dean tried to swallow it down. Instead, it bubbled between his lips. Sam gave a choked sob. Faces, some he recognized and others he didn’t, swarmed over his head, but Dean ignored them. “Don’t worry Sammy. It doesn’t hurt,” Dean lied. Cold like he had never felt seeped into his skin and he began to shiver.   

“Get me a blanket or something. He’s going into shock,” Sam shouted. A blue tablecloth appeared from faceless hands and was laid over Dean.

Sam began rocking him. The motion made Dean feel slight nauseous, but he didn’t say anything. His eyes began to drift shut. _Sleep sounds so good. _Something wet plopped onto his nose and his eyes fluttered open. Sam was crying. “It’s okay Sammy; it’s okay.” His words just seemed to make it worse. Sam’s tears came faster. “It’ll be okay, Sammy. I promise.”

“Dean,” Sam sobbed and drooped until his forehead touched his brothers. Dean expected the pressure to make him hurt more, but in that moment he realized he didn’t hurt at all. The pain was gone. An icy numbness remained.  “Please don’t leave me.” Sam’s word wrenched his heart.

_I won’t, _Dean tried to say, but all that escaped his lips was a cough and gurgle.

Shoes scuffled on the floor near Dean’s head and strange hands were forcing his brother away from his body.  “No,” Dean whispered, but no one seemed to hear him. He tried to focus on Sam’s face, but his vision kept fizzing gray. A man in a hat that read ‘Medic’ peered over him. The man was saying something to him. Dean couldn’t understand the words.

He turned his head and caught his brother’s eyes. _Sam, _he mouthed. Sam lurched forward and Dean’s sight blinked black.

Then everything went quiet. 


	17. The End

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

_Fuck, that’s annoying, _Dean thought upon waking. His limbs were heavy and his throat dry. Eyes fluttering, he caught glimpses of bright light. _Am I in Heaven? _

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

_Seriously, what the hell is that?_ Even though he felt like he could sleep another few hours, Dean forced his eyes to open. Light seared him.

“Hey, sorry about that. I’m going to dim the lights,” an unfamiliar voice whispered.  Dean struggled to turn over, to get out of the bed, but a swath of blankets and a sharp pain in his side stopped him cold.

The lights dimmed. Dean’s eyes fluttered open again and were greeted by the sight of steel blue irises under a wide forehead and pinched mouth. Behind the face appeared a halo of light.  “Are you an angel?” Dean wondered.

The man smiled, a lopsided grin, and replied deadpan, “No. I’m your nurse, Castiel.” He stepped backwards, removing himself from Dean’s personal space, and the halo of light disappeared. Dean blinked again.

“Nurse?” he croaked.

The man bobbed his head and walked over to the small nightstand. He chatted while pouring clear water into a small paper cup. “Yeah. Anna is your night nurse and I’m your day nurse.”

He brought the cup to Dean’s lips. The liquid was cool and soothed his throat. When he was finished with the first cup the nurse poured him another one. Dean drank that one down as well. His throat soothed, Dean asked, “I’m in the hospital?” He glanced around the white, sterile room. _Two narrow beds with railed side, hordes of strange medical equipment, and one small hanging television. Yep, I’m in the hospital. _

“Do you remember what happened?” Castiel asked. His brow was scrunched and his eyes wide.

Dean squinted and thought. At first all he remembered was the contest. He thought of Sam- _where the hell is my brother?-_ and everything else snapped into place. The fancy bistro. His Dad. The gun. _Jesus. _Dean pushed down the blankets and yanked up his flimsy hospital gown. White bandages wrapped around his midsection put him in mind of a mummy.

Strong hands grasped his wrists, “Hey now, you don’t want to tear your stitches and begin to bleed again.”

Dean gave his strange-named nurse a glare. If he couldn’t look at his wound then he’d ask about the other thing on his mind, “Where’s my brother?”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed, and for one long second the image the gun going off again and his brother lying dead on the ground stuck to his brain like a piece of gum. Then, someone called out, “Dean! You’re awake!” and Dean’s head whipped towards the door. There was Sam, standing tall and looking weary with a giant Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand and large circles under his eyes.

“Sam!” he called out then grunted when a sharp spike of pain lanced up his side.

“Hey, take it easy,” Sam commanded and then he was leaning over the bed, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck. He pressed the side of his face against Dean’s. Sammy’s skin was clammy, as if he were the sick one.

Sam’s breaths panted past his ear, and from the way Sam’s chest heaved Dean could tell his brother was fighting back tears. “You’re such a girl,” Dean teased.

Sam shook hard, like a dog getting rid of extra moisture from its coat, and Dean heard a muffled, “_Thank God.” _ 

Uncomfortable, Dean mumbled, “You’re kind of suffocating me, Sammy.” His head was immediately released. Sam reached back and dragged forward the dreary brown hospital chair. 

His coffee was placed on the nightstand. When he’d finished situating himself, Sam said, “I was so worried.”

Dean didn’t know how to respond, but luck was with him, because Castiel gave a forced cough.

Both Winchesters twisted to look at the nurse. “I’ll uh, go see if I can find something for you to eat Dean,” Castiel said. Red stained the man’s cheeks as he quickly exited the room.

When he was out of sight, Dean turned back to his brother and said, “He’s weird.”

Sam laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “He’s done nothing but talk about you since you were brought in. You’re his,” Sam raised his fingers and made quote signs, “’favorite American Idol constant ever.’ I think he has a crush on you.”

Dean blinked and stared at the door. “Well, I am crushable.”

Sam smiled. “If you say so.”

Dean shifted and twinge of pain spiked through him. He licked his lips and turned serious. “Sam, what happened?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. “Dad shot you,” he grounded out. “He was trying to get me.”

Dean nodded; sickness settled into his stomach. He remembered as much. “Where’s Dad?” _What happened to Dad? _

“He was arrested.” Sam reached forward and captured Dean’s wrist in a light hold. Dean wasn’t sure if the touch was meant to comfort Sam or him. “He’s confessed to everything. They’re going to put him in a high-security mental institution.” Sam’s voice was dark, like he didn’t agree with the verdict. _Sam always did think Dad should be locked away in prison. Maybe he’s right. _Dean kept the thought to himself.

Sam bowed forward. His bangs fell over his eyes. “Dean, you almost bled to death on the way to the hospital. I was there with you in the ambulance.” His eyes misted and his voice became gruff. “Your hand was so cold. Blood was everywhere.”

Dean twisted his arm until Sam’s fingers slid from his wrist and Dean’s own fingers were wrapped around Sam’s. “Hey. I’m here. I’m alive. It’s okay.”

Sam shook and yanked his wrist from Dean’s grasp. He buried his forehead in the palms of his hand. “No. It’s not okay. I thought you were going to die. They swept you away to surgery. I had to wait for almost ten hours with no word of whether you were dead or alive. And when they were finally done, you looked no better than you had before. The doctors weren’t sure if you were going to make it.” He raised his head. His eyes were red and flooded with tears. “It’s been four days Dean. Four. Fucking. Days.”

Grief ripped through Dean’s chest. He sat up; pushing aside the pain the motion caused, and took both of his brother’s hands in his. “Sam. Sammy. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m healing. Everything is going to be alright.”

Sam released a choked sob and buried his head in the crook of Dean’s shoulder. “I don’t know what I would have done if you had died.”

Dean petted his brother’s hair. “You would have survived.”

“No.” Sam lifted his head. “No. I don’t think I’m strong enough to survive without you, Dean.”

“Sam, you’re the strongest guy I know.”

“Dean,” Sam said disbelieving, “you are a much stronger man than I am. The things you went through for me as a kid... you’ve always been my rock. Always took care of my needs before your own. Without you, I’d be an angry, sad little boy. You’ve taught me to be a man.”

Surprise swept through him. _He really believes that, _Dean thought. Dean had never really thought of himself as strong before. He was a badass, sure, but a rock? Never. He looked at the honesty in Sam’s face.  _Maybe it’s true.  _“Thanks Sam.”

Sam smiled. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head.”

A grin spread across Dean’s face. “So, what’s the verdict with my wound?”

Sam leaned back into the chair. “The doctors said you’re going to make a full recovery. The bullet tore through you, but luckily missed any major organs. It’s going to take weeks for you to get back to your normal health though.” Sam paused and gave Dean a wicked grin. “No sex for a few months.”

“Now that’s just evil,” Dean replied. Then a thought occurred to him. “I’ve been out four days?” At Sam’s nod he continued, “What happened with the show?”

At this Sam’s dimples appeared in full force. “You won.”

“What?” Dean’s mouth dropped open.

“There was a big debate about whether to release the information since there wasn’t going to be a results show. But while you were in surgery, they played a recap of the season and announced that you won.” Sam dipped his head, so that he was looking at the floor when he added, “they did that in case you were going to die.”   

“I won?” The thought didn’t sit easy with him. “Sam, I don’t want the victory just because I was shot.”

Sam snorted. “People didn’t vote for you because you were shot dumbass. They voted for you because you are an amazing singer. Besides, the votes were in long before you were shot.”

Dean sat back, trying to take in the information. “I won?” he asked again. “I won.” Suddenly, he felt like he was performing with Led Zeppelin. “I’m the American Idol?” He laughed. He looked at his brother. “I didn’t even want to try out to begin with!”

Sam’s smile morphed into a laugh. “Well, I guess you don’t always get what you want.”  

At his brother’s joke, Dean’s elation dropped. “I’m sorry you didn’t win.”

Sam shook his head as if Dean had just said something stupid. “Dean, I did win. You’re alive, and you’re going to live your dream.”

“Sammy…”

“I’ve got bacon and eggs!” Castiel interrupted as he stepped inside the room. He was carrying a tray with breakfast. He stopped, took in Dean and Sam’s faces and said, “Oh, am I walking into the middle of something? I can come back.”

“No, you’re fine. Here, give me the food. I’m starving!” Dean said. Castiel looked doubtful, but he came forward anyway. He set the tray over Dean’s legs, and Dean looked at the food. “Uh, this looks great.” _Is this real food? _Dean thought. He poked at the white-colored eggs with the plastic fork.

Tentatively, Dean brought a forkful to his mouth. It tasted like plastic. He rolled his eyes to Sam and gave his best puppy dog stare. Sam sighed. “I’ll go pick you up a burger.”

“You really shouldn’t be eating greasy food. Your insides are still tender and anything that going to give you any roughage is going to be uncomfortable.” Dean turned his eyes towards the nurse. The man blushed and said, “But, uh, I guess one burger won’t hurt.”

Dean slapped the guy on the arm and said, “Thanks Cas.” The blush deepened.

“Why don’t you keep my brother company while I go get the food,” Sam said. Dean shot his brother an annoyed look, but Sam just grinned.

Dean snorted, and turned back to the nurse. “Yeah. Come tell me about watching American Idol.” Castiel lit up. Dean shared a last look with his brother and when Sam’s back was turned shouted, “Don’t forget the pie!”

Without turning around, Sam raised his hand and replied, “When do I ever forget the pie?”

~//~

Two weeks.  It had been two long, long weeks since Dean had been released from the hospital. He had been cooped up inside, watching daytime soaps and reading his way through _Catcher in the Rye_. Twice. Daily visits from his fellow contestants, and even the judges and Seacrest had eased the boredom. He had spent more time with Sam than he had in years. By the end of the two weeks he was ready to commit suicide. Or homicide. Whichever was easiest. Still, when Wednesday, three weeks after he had been shot, rolled around, Dean wasn’t sure he was ready to get back on the stage. Sam made him do it.

“There’s got to be ten thousand people out there,” Jo said, completely awed.

Dean peeked over her shoulder, past the curtain, and took in the crowd. _Ten thousand people. Holy shit. _The crowd sat behind the four judges, anxiously waiting for the tenth American Idol season finale to begin. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

“Dude, you don’t have to do anything. You’ve already won. This whole show is a dedication to you,” Andy called out from his spot near the buffet. The hippie was stuffing his mouth with mini hot dogs. The munchies were a _bitch_.  

“That’s the hard part,” Dean whined.

“Oh, get over it,” Sam said as he appeared from around the corner. He patted Dean’s back. “Accept it. We’re all going to sing songs for you, and the whole word is going to see.” Sam grinned at Dean’s discomfort.

“Dude, that was a low blow.”

“Oh Dean,” Bela said as she slinked over. “All of those screaming teenage girls are out there, screaming for you. They all love you.”

“Shut up Bela,” he snarked.

She dramatically placed her hand over her heart. “You wound me with your words.” Laughing, she walked away.  

 “Alright people. For the last time; it’s show time!” the PAs called out. From offstage Dean heard the American Idol music blare to life, and he heard Seacrest doing his thing. Their music cue whined on, and the top ten American Idol contestants began their prance onstage.  Dean was last in line.

Everyone took their place, and Seacrest called Dean over to his side. The man put his arm around Dean’s shoulder and directed his attention to the screen. “Tonight we’re here to celebrate Dean Winchester’s American Idol journey. Let’s watch how he became our American Idol.” The television screen came to life and for ten minutes Dean was forced to watch clips of himself. _God, how can anyone watch this bullshit, _he thought.  Finally it was over and Seacrest directed him to a stool that had been specially brought onstage for Dean. _Stupid fucks think I can’t be too active. _Dean took the seat anyway.  Every contestant except Sammy waved to the crowd and walked down the steps to the stadium seats. The first isle in the center row was empty and waiting.

Seacrest smiled at the crowd and said, “To begin our Dean Winchester, the tenth American Idol’s night of celebration, here is his brother, Sam.”

Sam slowly walked up to the microphone stand. His big hand enclosed over the head of the device. He leaned forward, eyes serious, and said, “I heard this song on the radio when my brother was in the hospital.” He paused and swallowed, like the words getting stuck in his throat. “The tone and lyrics captured how I felt sitting there, waiting to see if he’d be okay.” His hand clenched tighter around the mic. “People seem to believe a romantic relationship is the strongest one a person can have.” He smiled as if he’d told a good joke and his hair flopped around his face as he shook his head. “I’ve experienced differently.” He turned his head and locked his gaze onto Dean. Dean’s eyes had never left his brother. “Dean, you’re my best friend, my role model, my family. I’ve learned how to love, how to live and appreciate life from you.  I’m sorry for the rough times we’ve had lately, but they only made us stronger brothers. This song is for you.”

Sam licked his lips, and Dean unconsciously mimicked him. Then the music began a somewhat haunting melodic beat. Sam flicked his eyes to the audience and then back to Dean. He began to sing. “_If you only knew I'm hanging by a thread, the web I spin for you. If you only knew, I'd sacrifice my beating heart before I lose you. I still hold onto the letters  
you returned. I swear I've lived and learned.” _ Sam shifted closer to the stand. “_It's 4:03 and I can't sleep without you next to me.  I toss and turn like the sea. If I drown tonight, bring me back to life. Breathe your breath in me. The only thing that I still believe in is you, if you only knew.”_

Dean spared the audience a quick glance. They were mesmerized. Their eyes were dreamily floating between him and Sam. They were all quiet. “_If you only knew, how many times I counted all the words that went wrong. If you only knew, how I refused to let you go, even when you're gone. I don't regret any days I spent, nights we shared, or letters that I sent.” _The drum beat picked up at the chorus. “_It's 4:03 and I can't sleep without you next to me. I toss and turn like the sea. If I drown tonight, bring me back to life. Breathe your breath in me. The only thing that I still believe in is you, if you only knew._”

“_If you only knew. I still hold onto the letters you returned. You help me live and learn. It's 4:03 and I can't sleep without you next to me. I toss and turn like the sea. If I drown tonight, bring me back to life. Breathe your breath in me. The only thing that I still believe in is you, believe in is you. I still believe in you. Oh, if you only knew.”_

Like slowly dying waves after a storm, Sam’s voice faded into the music and the band leisurely followed. In the wake of Sam’s song, the crowd seemed momentarily stunned. Dean wasn’t. He rose from his seat and crossed the stage with long strides. Tears slide down his face; he ignored them. His left arm reached Sam first. His hand spread out across his brother’s back and dragged him close. His brother smelt like sweat and dryer sheets; he felt strong.

“Sam,” Dean murmured. He wanted to say, _I love you, _but the emotions inside his chest tumbled around too quickly for him to grab.

It didn’t matter. Sam understood. “Me too, Dean. Me too.” 

The two Winchester brothers stood there, tangled in a hug, as the crowd cheered. Applause ricocheted across the theater like children’s voices in the Grand Canyon. Sam smiled; Dean felt the muscles of his mouth against his temple. “Your adoring fans await. Give them a wave,” Sam instructed. There was humor and pride in his voice.

Dean nodded and pulled out of the hug. He used his sleeve to wipe at his face. Sam didn’t bother. Dean pivoted and faced the crowd. He raised a hand and jerked his hand in a wave. They cheered louder. He returned their appreciation with a happy smile and the dip of his head.

Seacrest’s voice came over the roar of the crowd. “Your American Idol folks! Dean Winchester!”

The End


End file.
